WHEN 
FOOLS 
USH   IN 


Unive 
Sou 
Li 


WILLIAM 
RICHARD 
HEREFORD 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 


Eleanor  knelt  gracefully 


WHEN  FOOLS 
RUSH  IN 


-By 


WILLIAM  RICHARD  HEREFORD 

Author  of  THE  DEMAGOG 


ILLUSTRATED  BT 

GEORGE  O.  BAKER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1913 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS    OF 

BRAUNWORTH   *   CO. 

BOOKBINDERS     AND    PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,    N.   V. 


To 
M.  L.  L. 

When  you  lived  in  the  Rue  de  Tournon  and  I 
lived  in  the  Rue  Rosa  Bonheur  we  dreamed  a  good 
deal  about  a  play  that  should  be  of  brave  knights 
and  gentle  ladies  with  never  a  villain  in  the  lot! 
Perhaps  because  of  this  lack — unworthy  thought! 
— nothing  then  came  of  our  dream  except  pleasant 
toil  and  a  companionship  that  made  Paris  dearer  to 
us  both  but,  later,  upon  it  was  builded  the  present 
story  which  I  beg  leave  to  dedicate  to  you  in  mem- 
ory of  le  bon  vieux  temps. 

WILLIAM  RICHARD  HEREFORD. 


2136454 


ANTE  SCRIPTUM 

IT  IS  NECESSARY  FOR  YOU  TO  READ  THIS  THAT  YOU  MAY 
PROPERLY  MAKE  THE  ACQUAINTANCE  OF  YOUR  AUTHOR 

How  the  attached  manuscript  came  into  my  hands 
for  editing  and  how  it  happens  that  it  is  now  given 
to  the  world,  containing,  as  it  does,  so  much  that  is 
intimate  and  personal,  are  matters  easy  of  explana- 
tion. Its  very  revelations,  indeed,  have  induced  its 
publication,  for  it  has  been  not  only  my  own  wish 
but  the  desire  of  those  whom  the  story  more  closely 
concerns  that  the  world  should  know  Florimond  de 
Saint-Sauveur  as  he  was. 

During  a  long  residence  in  Europe  I  was  hon- 
ored with  his  friendship.  He  was  the  last  direct 
representative  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  distin- 
guished families  of  France  and  inherited  from  his 
father,  Prince  Pierre  de  Saint-Sauveur,  member  of 
the  French  Academy,  a  passion  for  books,  particu- 
larly those  relating  to  philosophy  and  science. 

By  one  of  those  curious  anomalies  that  are  often 
enough  met  with  but  never  fail  to  surprise,  Prince 
Florimond  de  Saint-Sauveur  combined  with  this  de- 
votion to  mental  and  moral  science  and  this  passion 
for  ancient  authors  a  strong  tendency  to  pure  ro- 
mance. All  his  friends  were  aware  of  this  romantic 
quality  in  his  character  and  I  am  convinced  that  he, 
too,  was  fully  cognizant  of  it,  but  he  seemed  to  re- 
gard it  as  a  weakness  and  kept  it,  as  he  fondly  im- 
agined, quite  well  hidden. 

The  accompanying  pages  are  apparently  written 
with  a  view  to  their  publication  but  I  have  not  the 
slightest  idea  they  were  ever  really  so  intended, 


ANTE  SCRIPTUM 

any  more  than  it  was  their  author's  original  inten- 
tion in  writing  the  history  of  others  to  disclose  his 
own.  At  first,  it  may  be,  he  contemplated  writing 
a  romance  of  love  that  might  some  day  be  read  by 
any  one,  but  he  made  the  amateur's  natural  mistake 
of  basing  his  story  upon  actual  happenings  in  the 
lives  of  those  he  knew.  Throughout  the  narrative 
fact  and  fiction  are  curiously  blended  and  the  reader 
will  not  fail  to  observe  with,  perhaps,  a  sympathetic 
smile,  how,  in  spite  of  his  best  intentions,  the  au- 
thor, starting  out  as  an  observer  of  his  friends, 
with  the  avowed  purpose  of  remaining  in  the  back- 
ground, draws  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  own  story. 
I  fancy,  indeed,  the  reader — if  he  be  fond  of  lit- 
erary analysis,  and  who  of  us  is  not? — will  find  his 
appreciation  tickled  time  and  again  as  he  watches 
the  development  of  this  revelation.  One  can  almost 
see  the  author  fighting  against  this  obtrusion  of  his 
own  personality  but  when,  at  last,  the  satisfaction 
of  communing  with  himself  on  paper  masters  him, 
he  yields  unreservedly,  and  without  apology,  de- 
votes himself  to  his  memoirs.  It  is  then  that  you  see 
deep  into  the  heart  of  this  most  human  student  of 
books. 

In  the  original  manuscript,  which  came  into  my 
hands  through  the  friendship  of  which  I  have 
spoken,  the  effort  to  subordinate  the  philosopher  to 
the  romancer  is  very  apparent.  Passages  and  entire 
pages  of  psychological  and  metaphysical  specula- 
tion are  suppressed,  and  though  the  temptation  has 
been  great  to  restore  and  reproduce  these  often 
valuable  essays,  I  have  respected  the  author's  evi- 


ANTE  SCRIPTUM 

dent  desire  and  excluded  them  from  his  story,  in 
order  that  the  romance  might  run  on,  as  he  wished 
it,  freely,  directly  and  simply  with  nothing  to  dis- 
tract the  reader's  interest.  He  wrote  in  English,  an 
accomplishment  of  which  he  was  amusingly  proud. 
I  think  he  regarded  his  proficiency  in  that  language 
as,  in  some  manner,  a  tribute  to  his  mother,  who 
was  an  American,  and  whose  memory  he  worshiped. 
It  is,  indeed,  not  unlikely  that  he  undertook  the 
present  work  in  English  as  a  mark  of  filial  devotion. 
Beyond  correcting  a  few  natural  mistakes  in  or- 
thography and  eliminating  certain  purely  personal 
passages  I  have  made  no  changes  in  the  manuscript, 
preferring  to  leave  as  they  are,  occasional  quaint 
turnings  of  phrases  that  demonstrate,  despite  his 
fond  conceit,  the  author's  lack  of  habit  in  express- 
ing himself  in  the  language  he  so  dutifully  employs. 

Paris,  July,  1912.  iW.  R.  H. 


CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

I    IN  WHICH  THE  GOOD  GASPARD,  ACTING  AS 
PROLOGUE,  RELATES  A  STORY  THAT  HAS  ITS 
BEARING  UPON  THE  PRESENT  ROMANCE     .         1 
II    THE    VlCOMTE    DE    VOLNEY    Is     EARLY 

ABROAD  UPON  A  PLEASANT  MISSION    .  11 

III  A  LIVELY  ENCOUNTER  THAT  HAS  AN  UN- 
EXPECTED    WITNESS 23 

IV  A  BRILLIANT  PAINTER,  WHO  Is  HARD  UP, 
LEARNS  OF  A  WEALTHY  PATRONESS,  BUT 
WITH  UNHEARD-OF  AUDACITY  MAKES  OB- 
JECTION TO  RECEIVING  HER  AID    ....      34 

V    ELEANOR 48 

VI    A  GOOD  NIGHT  AT  THE  STUDIO  DOOR  THAT 

TAKES  A  LONG  TIME  TO  BE  SAID    ...      73 
VII    THE  VICOMTE  DE  VOLNEY  PRESENTS  His 
WELL-FORMED  THEORIES  OF  THE  DANGERS 
OF  LOVE  AND  MEETS  OPPOSITION  FROM  AN 

UNEXPECTED  QUARTER 83 

VIII    A    FAIR    PLOTTER   LISTENS    WITH    SWEET 

CHARITY  TO  A  DRY  DISCOURSE  ON  LOVE    .      99 
IX    THE  WISE  SIGNOR  TONNELLI  Is  TAKEN 

BY     SURPRISE 119 

X    EVEN  WHEN  MASTER  HANDS  WORK  THE 
STRINGS  PUPPETS  WILL  NOT  ALWAYS  Do 
WHAT  Is  EXPECTED  OF  THEM     ....     137 
XI    WE  ASSIST  AT  A  PLAY  THAT  HAS  A  HAPPY 

ENDING 158 

XII    A  GLORIOUS  SUMMER  Is  FOLLOWED  BY  A 

DREARY    WINTER  175 


CONTENTS—  Continued 

Chapter  Page 

XIII  GOSSIP  ABOUT  A  NEW  PRIMA  DONNA  STIRS 
EVERY  ONE  EXCEPT  SIGNOR  TONNELLI     .     187 

XIV  IN  WHICH  SWORDS  ARE  CROSSED     ...     203 
XV    AT  THE  OPERA 213 

XVI    A  ROYAL  TOKEN  THAT  SEEMS  BUT  PART  OF 
A     SONG-CONJURED     DREAM     WHICH     Is 

RUDELY     SHATTERED 234 

XVII    AN   EVENTFUL  MORNING  THAT  Is   FILLED 

WITH  SURPRISES  FOR  NEARLY  EVERY  ONE    250 

XVIII    THE  PRINCE  TELLS  His  STORY     ....     268 

XIX    ONE  WORD  MORE  281 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

CHAPTER  I 

IN    WHICH    THE    GOOD    GASPARD,    ACTING    AS    PRO- 
LOGUE,   RELATES    A    STORY    THAT    HAS    ITS 
BEARING   UPON   THE   PRESENT   ROMANCE 

THE  last  thing  one  settles  in  writing  a 
book,  observes  the  sage  Pascal,  is  what 
one  should  put  in  first.  Indeed,  this  is  most 
true  in  my  own  case,  for,  now  that  I  have  set 
my  hand  to  the  chronicling  of  events  which  so 
ideeply  concerned  good  friends  of  mine  and  in 
which  I  was  privileged  to  have  a  small  part,  I 
find  it  no  easy  matter  to  make  a  beginning. 

Swiftly    shifting    scenes,    filled    with    variety 
and   unsuspected   significance,   crowd  upon   my 
memory  but,  in  truth,  I  know  not  which  one  to 
1 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

choose  from  among  them  and  say  definitely,  as 
if  I  were  a  showman  and  you  the  waiting 
audience :  "  Silence.  The  stage  is  set.  The 
wooden  hammer  of  Moliere  is  heard  behind  the 
curtain  and  here  the  drama  begins." 

Strange  is  it  that  my  thought,  which  has 
had  so  much  to  do  with  more  sedate  subjects, 
should  now  clothe  itself  in  the  picturesque  cos- 
tume of  the  theater,  finding  its  easiest  ex- 
pression in  the  simile  of  the  stage.  But,  since 
it  falls  naturally,  so  be  it,  and  for  a  beginning, 
we  shall  fancy  ourselves  in  a  playhouse  with 
the  curtain  just  going  up,  and  after  the  man- 
ner of  dramatists,  classic  and  modern,  those 
shall  first  appear  who  are  of  least  importance. 

Enter  then,  my  faithful  servant,  Gaspard 
Crampon.  He  makes  his  bow,  with  long 
favoris  whitening  the  sides  of  his  face  like 
patches  of  snow  upon  a  leafless  tree ;  the  years 
have  bent  his  shoulders  that  were  once  so 
strong  and  straight,  but  there  is  a  brilliance  of 
eye  that  age  can  not  dim,  and  beneath  his  livery 


THE  GOOD  GASPARD 

beats  a  heart  that  never  has  been,  and  never 
could  be,  aught  but  loyal  and  tender.  Yes,  it 
is  the  good  Gaspard  who  shall  act  as  Prologue 
and  introduce  to  your  distinguished  attention 
another  one  of  minor  importance,  myself.  By 
means  of  a  true  tale  he  shall  account  for  my 
present  occupation  as  a  writer  of  romance,  as 
the  showman  who  bows  before  you,  to  keep  to 
our  metaphor.  Once  every  year,  upon  the  an- 
niversary of  my  honored  father's  death,  Gas- 
pard repeats  it  to  me  as  a  sweet  and  solemn 
ceremony.  Here  is  the  story: 

"  When  I  went  with  my  good  master's  la- 
mented father  to  that  far  land  of  America  I 
was  not  much  more  than  a  boy  but  I  was  chosen 
for  the  hazardous  journey  because  I  had  been 
his  servant  ever  since  I  was  in  the  cradle,  and 
because,  in  good  faith,  there  was  not  in  all 
Touraine  a  man  or  boy  stronger  of  limb  than 
I.  My  master  was  as  brave  as  a  lion  and  ad- 
venturous to  the  point  of  recklessness.  His 
mind  was  filled  with  the  exciting  romances  of 
3 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Monsieur  Fenimore  Cooper  which  he  would 
read  to  me  by  the  hour  until,  in  my  dreams,  I 
saw  nothing  but  the  strange  men  with  red  skins 
and  my  imagination  was  aflame  with  the 
prospect  of  encountering  them. 

"  But  hardly  had  we  arrived  'in  New  York 
when  your  father's  eyes  beheld  her  of  whose 
beauty  all  the  world,  it  seemed,  did  nothing  but 
talk.  And  soon  thereafter  he  met  her  and  then 
all  the  Indians  and  the  Far  West  of  Monsieur 
Fenimore  Cooper  were  straightway  forgotten. 
Ah,  Frenchmen  are  no  laggards  in  love  and  you 
may  be  sure  your  father  lost  no  time  in  de- 
claring himself  to  the  lady  whose  charms  held 
him  as  if  spellbound,  but  suitors  were  many  for 
the  hand  of  the  beautiful  Miss  Schuyler,  and 
she  gave  your  father  neither  yea  nor  nay,  and 
he  was  well-nigh  distracted. 

"  It  was  at  the  great  ball  given  to  the  young 

English  prince  who  came  so  long  afterward  to 

the  throne.     He,  too,  was  making  a  journey  to 

America   and   royal   honors    were   paid   to   him 

4 


THE  GOOD  GASPARD 

wherever  he  went,  honors  consistent  with  his 
high  rank  for  some  day  he  would  be  a  king. 
All  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  the  new  world 
were  at  the  ball  and  the  young  Prince  of  Wales 
looked  on,  but  he  did  not  dance  nor  did  it  ap- 
pear that  he  intended  to,  until  he  asked  sud- 
denly :  '  Who  is  that  beautiful  girl  there, 
standing  by  the  window?  She  is  the  most 
beautiful  lady  I  have  ever  seen.' 

"  The  young  prince  took  from  a  vase  a  red 
rose,  and  walking  to  where  the  lady  stood,  made 
a  low  bow.  '  This,'  he  said,  '  is  the  red  rose  of 
Lancaster.  May  I  ask  you  to  wear  it?  And 
may  I  have  the  honor  of  this  dance  with  the 
fairest  of  America's  daughters  ?  ' 

"  Now  it  so  fell  that  a  moment  before  she 
had  promised  this  dance  to  your  father,  and  she 
was  placed  in  the  embarrassment  of  offending 
her  suitor,  or  of  being  guilty  of  the  unpardon- 
able rudeness  of  slighting  one  who  was  her 
country's  honored  guest.  She  glanced  quickly 
at  your  father  who,  seeing  her  difficulty,  smiled 
5 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

with  perfect  understanding,  and  bowing  ever 
so  slightly,  so  that  no  other  could  see,  mutely 
released  her  from  the  promise  she  had  given. 

"  Then  it  was  that  this  beautiful  lady,  speak- 
ing so  that  those  about  her  might  hear,  made 
reply :  *  Your  Highness  honors  me  above  my 
poor  deserts,  and  the  pleasure  of  Your  High- 
ness' favor  is  made  doubly  great  if  I  may  take 
the  liberty  of  presenting  my  future  husband, 
the  Prince  de  Saint-Sauveur.' 

"  Your  father  went  hot  and  cold  for  that 
was  the  first  time  your  mother  had  let  him  know 
that  he  was  her  accepted  suitor.  Ah,  it  is  as 
your  father  said,  it  is  the  way  with  the 
American  ladies.  They  are  won  not  lightly. 
They  hold  themselves  like  a  star  in  the  heavens 
above  a  man's  gaze  and  then,  just  when  he  who 
worships  begins  to  think  the  star  is  too  far 
away  ever  to  be  attained  by  mortal  desire,  the 
heavens  bend  down  to  him  and  show  him  para- 
dise near  at  hand." 

It  is  thus  that  Gaspard  finishes  the  tale  and 
6 


THE  GOOD  GASPARD 

then  we  go  together  to  my  room  and  place 
fresh  red  roses  in  a  deep  silver  vase  that  is 
one  of  my  most  cherished  possessions.  On  one 
side  of  the  vase  are  the  arms  of  the  house  of 
Lancaster  with  a  ducal  coronet  above  them 
and  on  the  other,  in  relief,  is  a  rose  like  the  red 
rose  that  was  offered  to  my  mother  by  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  who  sent  her  this  vase  when 
she  was  married. 

Now  that  Gaspard  has  spoken  the  Prologue, 
do  you  wonder  that  I  should  esteem  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  as  my  brother,  or  that  I  should  write 
and  speak  the  wonderful  English  language  as 
if  it  were  my  own  native  tongue,  or  that  I 
should  find  pleasure  in  presenting  to  you  this 
drama?  But  now  that  this  much  has  been 
explained  I  must  withdraw  from  the  center  of 
the  stage  which  I  feel  already  I  have  held  too 
long.  Pardon  me,  I  shall  not  offend  again. 
I  shall  not  obscure  this  dramatic  history  of 
others  with  my  own  reminiscences  for  that 
would  be  only  to  confuse,  and  I  would  have  it 
7 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

all  presented  in  a  clear  straightforward  man- 
ner. As  the  wise  Marquis  de  Vauvenargues 
wrote  so  long  ago,  clearness  is  the  good  faith 
of  philosophers,  and  that,  I  holcl,  is  true  of  all 
who  write. 

I  shall  show  to  you  a  scene  whereon  the 
actors  are  men  and  women  of  gentle  bearing 
and  honorable  demeanor,  all  save  one,  a  creature 
who,  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  despise  and  who 
would  not  be  permitted  to  appear  before  you 
did  not  the  events  necessitate.  But  he  shall 
not  be  allowed  to  hold  your  attention  too  long, 
upstart  that  he  is.  Presently,  upon  the  scene 
will  come  a  noble  gentleman,  my  friend,  and  a 
lady  whose  great  worth  my  poor  skill  shall  not 
be  able  to  make  you  appreciate.  And  you 
shall  see  two  who  walk  hand  in  hand,  with  faces 
illumined  by  the  glory  of  exalted  ambition,  a 
young  man  and  a  maiden,  wandering  in 
Elysian  fields;  you  shall  behold  the  dangers  in 
their  path;  you  shall  observe  how  others,  older 
and  possessing  less  of  their  divine  fire  of 
8 


THE  GOOD  GASPARD 

genius,  sought  to  make  puppets  of  them,  and 
the  drama  will  reveal  what  resulted  from  their 
honorably  intentioned  meddling.  Yes,  it  shall 
be  all  of  that. 

From  time  to  time  upon  the  stage  you  may 
see  me  appear,  keeping,  I  promise  you,  in  the 
background,  and  acting  as  a  Greek  chorus  in 
interpreting  the  thoughts,  or  deeds,  of  the 
principals.  And  I  shall  cause  it  all  to  appear 
before  you  as  if  I  were  always  there  and  saw 
it  all  with  my  own  eyes,  but,  my  faith,  you  will 
quickly  discover  that  such  could  not  have  been 
the  case.  Some  of  the  things  I  did  see  and 
some  of  the  things  I  did  hear  and  others  I 
learned  of  long  time  afterward,  and  some 
again,  I  neither  saw  nor  heard  but,  none  the 
less,  knew  were  true  through  that  strange 
power  the  poorest  of  us  may  possess  to  put 
ourselves  now  and  again  in  the  places  of  those 
we  love. 

In  all  that  is  essential  the  record  shall  be 
true  enough,  though  I  shall  be  no  dull  copyist 
9 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

of  conversation,  no  mere  chronicler  of  act  and 
phrase.  Ah,  no;  whoever  you  may  be  I  know 
you  well  enough  to  make  sure  that  you  will 
require  of  me  more  art  than  that.  The  time 
shall  be  ever  the  present,  the  running  moment 
that  escapes  our  grasp  and  slips  into  the  un- 
alterable past,  and  the  place  shall  be  Paris, 
the  lovable  and  lovely.  Yes,  it  shall  all  be  of 
Paris  and,  Dieu  merci,  of  Love  and  Youth ! 


CHAPTER  II 

THE      VICOMTE      BE      VOLNEY     IS     EARLY     ABROAD 
UPON    A    PLEASANT    MISSION 

AS  Yves-Bertrand,  Vicomte  de  Volney, 
walked  blithely  through  the  flowering, 
fragrant  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg  on  that 
sparkling  May  morning,  the  little  birds  were 
singing  in  his  heart.  Swinging  through  the 
park  with  his  long  stride,  he  made  a  brave 
figure  in  his  riding  breeches  and  tight  riding 
coat;  a  pleasing  picture  to  look  upon,  for 
Bertrand  de  Volney  was  a  handsome,  stalwart, 
dashing  fellow,  with  clear  eyes  as  brown  as  a 
polished  hazelnut,  or  as  brown  as  his  beard 
which  he  wore  a  la  Leopold. 

Truly    those    he    passed,   workmen    in    blue 

blouses  late  to  their  daily  task,   artists  with 

paint-boxes  and  canvases  under  their  arms  on 

their  way  to  a  favored  corner  overlooking  the 

11 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

sunken  garden,  models  hastening  to  an  early 
appointment  in  some  near-by  studio,  nurse- 
maids with  gay  bonnets  watching,  none  too 
closely,  romping,  laughing  little  children  as 
bright  as  the  sunshine  in  which  they  played  — 
any  of  these  whom  you  may  see  on  a  summer 
morning  in  the  Luxembourg  might  have  heard 
the  song  in  Bertrand  de  Volney's  heart,  or 
they  might  have  seen  that  it  was  there,  for 
eyes  and  lips  must  dance  when  the  heart  sings. 

Two  models  who  passed  him  looked  up  into 
his  face,  and  smiling,  whispered  to  each  other. 
"  Ah,  voila!  One  who  has  the  music  in  his  soul 
on  this  fine  morning!  Didst  thou  see  the  smile 
upon  his  lips  and  the  muguet  in  his  buttonhole? 
Lucky  is  the  woman  who  can  bring  that  look 
into  a  man's  face !  " 

There   is   a  time   in  the  existence   of  every 

young  girl  when  the  Book  of  Life  is  interesting 

only  when  the  page  tells  of  love,  and  these  two 

were   arrived   at   that   delightful   hour.     They 

12 


turned  and  stood  gazing  at  De  Volney  as  he 
walked  on. 

"Ah!"  sighed  one  of  them.  "Without  a 
doubt  he  goes  to  the  home  of  his  beloved,  for 
his  steps  are  eager." 

"  No,"  answered  the  other.  "  Did  I  not 
tell  thee  to  regard  the  May  flower  in  his  coat? 
The  muguet,  as  thou  knowest,  must  be  bestowed 
by  the  hand  of  love  that  it  may  work  its  great- 
est happiness.  He  comes  now  directly  from 
her  who  gave  it  to  him,  and  that  is  why  the 
music  is  in  his  heart." 

"  Yes,  thou  art  right,  Margot ;  anil  I  should 
not  mind  being  the  one  who  pinned  the  muguet 
on  his  breast.  Thou  canst  well  believe  that 
she  is  happy." 

But  the  Vicomte  Bertrano!  de  Volney  was 
not  in  love.  The  simple  suggestion  would 
have  made  him  laugh.  True,  he  was  good- 
looking,  he  was  rich  and  he  was  thirty-five,  and 
the  spray  of  muguet  had  been  placed  in  his 
13 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

coat  that  very  morning  by  no  other  than  the 
most  beautiful  Madame  Leslie  Pointer.  But 
Bertrand  de  Volney  in  love !  You  do  not  know 
his  father,  the  old  Comte  Roger  de  Volney, 
who  is,  I  think,  the  finest  gentleman  in  all 
France.  I  have  known  the  Comte  de  Volney 
ever  since  I  was  born,  and  I  knew,  too,  his 
beautiful  young  wife,  Bertrand's  mother,  who 
died  when  Bertrand  was  a  baby.  The  count 
was  never  the  same  after  that  crushing  blow 
and  so  it  was  that,  from  the  time  he  was  old 
enough  to  understand,  Bertrand  grew  up  bear- 
ing in  his  heart  his  father's  sad  lesson  that  love  ' 
is  a  great  joy  we  may  not  know  without  suffer- 
ing. It  is  the  law  of  compensation.  Bertrand 
all  his  life  was  schooled  against  passion,  so  that 
at  thirty-five  he  was  an  accomplished  man  of 
the  world  whose  philosophy  was  that  of  the 
Stoics,  in  so  far  that  he  had  been  taught  con- 
stantly to  subordinate  his  emotions  to  reason, 
and  to  practise  virtue,  not  as  the  Epicureans  f 
did,  that  happiness  might  follow,  but  for  its 
14 


A  PLEASANT  MISSION 

own  sake  because  it  is  right.  He  was  not 
cold,  no;  but  —  how  shall  I  say?  —  he  was  so 
very  reasonable.  Bertrand  de  Volney  in  love ! 
The  idea  was  enough  to  make  laughter. 

No,  the  music  that  was  in  the  Vicomte  de 
Volney's  heart  on  that  May  morning  was  not 
the  singing  of  any  woman's  voice.  It  was  the 
knowledge  that  what  he  was  about  to  do  would 
give  pleasure  to  a  friend  who  was  very  dear 
to  him.  And,  mark  you,  there  is  no  surer  way 
to  have  the  little  birds  sing  in  your  soul  than 
to  bring  happiness  to  another. 

De  Volney  turned  from  the  park,  and  fol- 
lowing the  broad  Rue  du  Luxembourg  into  the 
Rue  d'Assas,  entered  a  building  whose  heavy 
carved  doors  stood  wide  open  as  if  they  meant 
to  invite  the  world  inside.  Madame  Guillou, 
the  wife  of  the  concierge,  who,  in  all  these 
years  of  Paris,  had  never  left  off  wearing  her 
Breton  bonnet,  looked  up  from  her  task  of 
polishing  the  glistening  oak  floor. 

"  Ah,  bonjour,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte"  she 
15 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

greeted  De  Volney  heartily.  "  Monsieur  va 
bien?  "  Only  she  pronounced  it  "  ben,"  as 
she  had  done  when  she  was  a  slip  of  a  girl  in 
Quimper. 

De  Volney  touched  his  hat  with  his  riding 
crop.  "  Very  well,  indeed,  thank  you,  Madame 
Guillou;  and  how  is  the  good  Monsieur  Guillou 
this  fine  May  morning?  " 

Madame  Guillou  bent  over  her  work,  and  if 
it  had  not  been  so  dark  in  the  hall  I  think  one 
might  have  seen  something  like  a  blush  come 
into  the  plump  old  cheeks. 

"  Ah,  me,  he  will  never  learn  wisdom,"  she 
confessed,  with  a  shake  of  her  head  and  a 
subdued  chuckle.  "  Here  we  are,  two  old  peo- 
ple, married  for  thirty  years  come  Saint 
Eustache's  day,  but  he  is  still  the  boy,  Monsieur. 
He  has  gone  out  now  to  get  for  me  —  what 
cloes  monsieur  think?  A  spray  of  muguet, 
even  such  as  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  is  himself 
wearing,  I  observe.  Never  a  year  has  he 
missed  giving  me  my  porte-bonlieur  on  the  first 
16 


A  PLEASANT  MISSION 

day  of  May.     Truly  he  will  never  grow  sen- 
sible." 

De  Volney  laughed.  "  Bravo  for  the  good 
Monsieur  Guillou;  and  permit  me,  Madame,  to 
express  also  my  wish  that  you  may  have  all 
the  good  luck  possible."  He  bowed  formally 
as  if  he  had  been  addressing  a  duchess,  and 
Madame  Guillou  made  a  little  curtsy. 

"  Monsieur  le  Vicomte  is  in  search  of  his 
friend,  Monsieur  Converse?" 

"Yes.     Is  he  in  his  studio?" 

"  He  is  sure  to  be  there,  and  at  work  on 
such  a  bright  morning.  He  works  always, 
Monsieur  Converse." 

*'  Merci,"  flung  back  the  Vicomte  de  Volney 
from  half-way  up  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  and 
Madame  Guillou,  resting  from  her  labors,  fol- 
lowed him  with  her  eyes,  musing  that  some  af- 
fair of  importance  must  be  impelling  the 
viscount,  who  was  always  so  leisurely  and  digni- 
fied, to  run  up  the  steps  as  if  he  were  eighteen 
instead  of  thirty-five. 

17 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

It  was  five  long  flights  up  to  the  atelier  of 
Mr.  Bruce  Converse,  but  the  stairs  were  not 
of  the  steepness  of  ladders  such  as  they  are  in 
the  houses  that  have  been  built  in  Paris  since 
the  Empire  fell.  They  were  broacl  and  easy 
to  ascend,  and  Bertrand  de  Volney,  who  ex- 
ercised every  day  at  riding  or  fencing  or 
tennis  or  footing,  was  not  so  much  as  out  of 
breath  when  he  knocked  at  the  studio  door. 

"  Come  in,"  shouted  Mr.  Converse,  but  no 
sooner  was  the  door  open  and  Bertrand  had 
shown  his  brown  beard  inside,  than  other  voices 
greeted  him. 

"  Oh,  it's  'Is  'Ighness ! "  exclaimed  young 
Mr.  Sammy  Potts. 

"  Welcome,  Your  'Ighness,  to  our  'umble 
'ome ! "  echoed  two  other  young  gentlemen,  Mr. 
Amos  Tuttle  and  Mr.  Johnny  Judd. 

They  were  three  most  curious  young  gentle- 
men such  as  in  the  Latin  Quarter  are  called 
"  types,"  but  they  were  very  amusing  and  all 
three  worshiped  their  friend,  Mr.  Bruce  Con- 
18 


verse,  as  art  students  are  fond  of  worshiping 
some  painter  a  little  older  than  themselves  who 
has,  as  we  say,  "  arrived."  Just  to  look  at 
them  made  one  laugh.  A  modern  and  modish 
philosopher  has  ascribed  our  amusement  at  the 
peculiarities  of  others  to  the  fact  that  they  are 
in  a  manner  merely  exaggerations  of  our  own 
failings.  Perhaps  it  is  true.  It  may  be  you 
and  I  have  a  secret  longing  we  dare  not  gratify 
to  clothe  ourselves  in  an  outlandish  fashion 
that  will  cause  us  to  be  remarked,  and  so  we 
laugh  when  we  see  Mr.  Sammy  Potts  or  Mr. 
Amos  Tuttle  or  Mr.  Johnny  Judd  strolling 
along  the  streets  with  wide  velvet  berets  on  the 
sides  of  their  heads,  their  legs  like  balloons  in 
enormous  corduroy  trousers,  flowing  black  ties 
knotted  loosely  about  their  necks,  wearing  little 
coats  that  always  seem  too  small,  and  on  their 
feet, —  Zeus  guard  us  —  sandals. 

If  I  may  borrow  the  expression  of  a  friend 
of  mine,  they  were   "  afflicted  with  too   much 
Trilby."     They  had  most  strange  ideas  which 
19 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

they  had  got,  I  am  quite  sure,  from  reading 
over  and  over  Mr.  Du  Maurier's  charming 
story  about  Little  Billee  and  Trilby  and  the 
weird  Mr.  Svengali.  You  may  see  always  in 
Paris,  in  the  Latin  Quarter,  very  young  gen- 
tlemen from  America  or  England  who  are 
"  afflicted  with  too  much  Trilby,"  but  you  must 
not  make  the  mistake  of  despising  them,  or 
even  considering  that  they  are  extraordinarily 
foolish  to  wear  their  droll  costumes.  They 
have  very  sound  hearts  and  very  sound  bodies 
under  their  strange  clothes,  and  if  their  youth- 
ful conception  of  an  artist's  life  is  extrava- 
gantly romantic,  after  all,  c'est  un  beau  reve 
de  jeunesse,  and  none  of  us  is  so  rich  in  ful- 
filled ambitions  that  he  can  afford  to  scoff  at 
any  dream  of  youth. 

Mr.  Sammy  Potts,  Mr.  Amos  Tuttle  and  Mr. 
Johnny  Judd  now  surrounded  the  Vicomte  de 
Volney  and  inspected  his  riding  costume  as  if 
they  had  never  seen  such  a  thing  before  and 
as  if  it  were  every  bit  as  strange  as  their  own. 
20 


A  PLEASANT  MISSION 

After  all,  why  was  it  not?  The  three  and  De 
Volnej  were  good  friends.  He  had  won  their 
lasting  affection  when,  early  in  their  Latin 
Quarter  experience,  he  had  renamed  them  Velas- 
quez, Rembrandt  and  Rubens.  They  had  re- 
taliated by  calling  the  Vicomte  de  Volney  '  'Is 
'Ighness  '  because  he  was  the  first  gentleman 
of  title  they  had  met.  It  was  an  absurd  name 
and  it  teased  my  friend  Bertrand  not  a  little, 
for  many  of  his  friends  took  to  calling  him 
"  'Is  'Ighness,"  until  Bertrand  wished  he  had 
not  been  so  quick  to  give  names  to  the  young 
Americans.  He  realized,  however,  that  they 
were  only  returning  his  own  game. 

De  Volney  made  a  noble  attempt  to  ignore 
the  young  scapegraces  as  they  looked  him  over 
from  head  to  foot,  for  great  was  their  joy 
whenever  they  were  able  to  disturb  the  vis- 
count's poise.  Converse  stood  aside,  his  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  watching  them  with  undisguise3 
amusement. 

"  I  have  some  news  for  you,  Converse,"  as- 
21 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

serted  De  Volney  calmly,  affecting  to  disre- 
gard the  others. 

"My  word,"  drawled  Mr.  [Amos  Tuttle, 
"  just  see  who's  here." 

"He  must  ride  very  well;  he  has  such  be- 
yoo-ti-ful  clothes,"  chimed  in  Mr.  Johnny 
Judd. 

Bertrand  gave  up  the  useless  attempt  to  take 
no  notice  of  them.  With  his  riding  whip  as  a 
sword,  he  placed  himself  on  guard. 

"  Come  on,  you  three  little  musketeers  from 
Trilby,"  he  cried.  "  To  the  rescue,  Converse, 
I  am  surrounded." 


CHAPTER  III 

A     LIVELY     ENCOUNTER      THAT      HAS     AN      UNEX- 
PECTED   WITNESS 

FOR  answer  Bruce  Converse  put  out  a  long 
arm,  and  his  strong  hand  encircled  the 
neck  of  one  of  De  Volney's  tormentors. 

"  Roughhouse !  "  cried  the  young  gentleman, 
who  found  himself  held  in  a  grip  of  steel.  It 
was  a  word  that,  I  must  warn  you,  you  will 
not  find  in  any  dictionary,  for  I  have  searched 
for  it ;  but  it  has  been  explained  to  me,  and 
though  I  attempt  the  definition  with  diffidence, 
it  is  enough  to  say  that  the  phrase  is  associated 
invariably  with  physical  exertion  often  ap- 
proximating to  violence,  and  these  athletic 
young  gentlemen,  who,  with  the  exuberance  of 
good  health  and  youth  were  fond  of  trying 
conclusions  of  strength,  had  adopted  it  as  a 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

fraternal  slogan.  True  to  the  oath  they  had 
taken  always  to  help  each  other,  the  two  others 
responded  to  the  call  like  knights  of  old. 
Bruce  Converse,  who  was  a  veritable  giant  for 
strength,  and  who  was  as  fond  as  they  were  of 
trying  out  these  friendly  tests  of  muscle  — 
fonder  perhaps  —  received  them  as  they  came. 
The  battle  was  short.  For  a  confusing  mo- 
ment or  two  arms  and  legs  were  flying  about 
the  studio  —  De  Volney  afterward  told  me 
Bruce  Converse  was  like  a  charging  windmill  — • 
and  then  two  of  the  young  gentlemen  were  on 
the  floor  with  Mr.  Converse  in  his  painter's 
apron  sitting  on  top  of  them,  while  the  third 
was  in  a  corner  declaring  loudly  he  had  been 
placed  Tiors  de  combat  by  a  sprained  thumb. 

Mr.  Converse  calmly  held  his  two  squirming 
victims  on  the  floor  and  looked  up  at  De  Vol- 
ney, smiling.  "  I  think  we  can  talk  quietly 
now.  They  are  about  ready  to  promise  to  be 
good." 

He  made  a  handsome  picture  as  he  sat  there, 


AN  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS 

a  young  Colossus  astride  the  wriggling  forms 
of  his  captives.  So  sure  was  he  of  his  mastery 
of  them,  so  confident  in  his  prodigious  strength, 
that  upon  his  flushed  smiling  face  there  was 
a  look  of  the  young  gladiator,  or  of  the  war- 
rior of  ancient  Gaul. 

"  We'll  be  good,"  came  weakly  from  the  two 
on  the  floor.  Exhausted,  they  had  ceased  to 
struggle. 

Now  the  Vicomte  Bertrand  de  Volney, 
though,  indeed,  he  had  brought  about  the 
present  conflict,  was  unable  to  take  an  active 
part  in  it  for  the  rules  and  the  manner  of 
playing  this  vigorous  pastime  of  "  rough- 
house  "  were  beyond  his  comprehension.  It  is 
like  the  magnificent  English  sport,  la  boxe, 
which  the  gentlemen  of  France,  try  as  they 
will,  can  never  master.  It  is  in  the  race,  I 
think,  and  Frenchmen,  though  they  admire 
exercise  and  athletics  can  not  bring  them- 
selves to  the  corps-a-corps,  where  one  man 
must  lay  violent  hands  upon  another.  We  pre- 
25 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

fer  fencing  where  the  steel  alone  may  touch. 
But  Bertrand  regarded  the  battle  silently  and 
impartially,  his  whole  being  delighting  in  the 
young  artist's  strength  and  his  facile  mastery 
of  his  three  antagonists. 

"  I  could  not  help  you,  my  dear  Converse," 
he  said  when  the  victory  was  won.  "  But  I 
thank  you  and  I  congratulate  you.  I  hope 
sincerely  that  you  have  not  hurt  the  Messieurs 
Rubens,  Rembrandt  and  Velasquez.  And  now 
I  may  tell  you  the  news  I  have  brought." 

Converse  raised  his  eyes  from  his  victims  and 
De  Volney  saw  a  sudden  wave  of  crimson,  more 
vivid  than  the  flush  produced  by  exertion,  run 
over  his  face.  There  was  no  mistaking  it,  it 
was  a  blush,  and  quickly  Bertrand  followed  the 
artist's  gaze.  In  the  open  doorway  stood  a 
young  girl;  her  blue  eyes  were  alight  with  a 
boyish  pleasure  in  the  scene  of  battle  before 
her;  delight  animated  her  face  and  in  her  ex- 
pression, unhidden,  was  a  frank  pride  that  was 
almost  proprietary. 

26 


AN  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS 

"  Splendid,  Bruce ! "  she  cried  enthusiastic- 
ally as  her  glance  met  the  artist's.  "  Splen- 
did !  Magnificent ! "  Her  outstretched  hands 
went  together  in  a  spontaneous  gesture  of 
applause.  They  were  quite  remarkable  hands, 
full  of  character  and  expression,  slender, 
firm,  of  structural  delicacy  but  strong1,  the 
fingers  long  but  not  round  or  tapering,  not  of 
Botticellian  perfection,  but  graceful  and  fine. 
One  saw  at  a  glance  they  were  the  hands  of  an 
artist  and  that,  without  the  premeditation  of 
their  owner,  they  would  fall  naturally  into  har- 
monious and  expressive  gestures.  Something 
about  them,  too,  was  boyish,  masculine,  like  the 
girl's  good-humored  smile. 

*'  Heavens !  Eleanor,  I  hope  you  haven't 
been  standing  there  long,"  exclaimed  Con- 
verse. 

"  Not  half  long  enough,"  she  laughed. 
"  Bonjouf,  Vicomte,"  she  saluted  Bertrand 
with  a  graceful  wave  of  the  hand. 

A  wail  came  from  the  two  young  gentlemen 
27 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

on  the  floor.  "  Please  make  him  stop,  Miss 
Moore,"  pleaded  Mr.  Sammy  Potts.  "  He  is 
one  to  only  two  of  us,  the  brute.  Please  call 
him  off.  He  will  do  anything  for  you." 

The  crimson  wave  that  had  ebbed  now  sud- 
denly surged  anew  to  the  very  temples  of  the 
young  giant.  "  That  for  your  impudence ! " 
he  laughed,  shaking  the  two  of  them.  "  What 
shall  we  do  with  them,  Eleanor?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  mean,  shall  it  be  death  or  banish- 
ment?" the  girl  questioned. 

"Mercy,  fair  judge;  oh,  beautiful  judge,  be 
merciful,"  pleaded  the  incorrigible  Mr.  Sammy 
Potts. 

"  Which  do  you  prefer,  death  or  banish- 
ment? "  demanded  Eleanor.  It  could  be  seen 
that  she  was  accustomed  to  the  pranks  of  the 
three  young  gentlemen.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
they  were  her  mute  worshipers.  All  three  of 
them  fed  their  hearts  on  the  unconfessed  secret 
of  their  admiration  for  her.  Not  one  of  them 
but  believed  that  he  was  hopelessly  in  love. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS 

"  Really,  Miss  Moore,"  put  in  De  Volney,  "  it 
should  not  be  less  than  death.  If  only  you 
could  devise  for  them  some  new  and  refined 
torture ! " 

"  Mercy !  "  groaned  the  offenders  in  unison. 

De  Volney  was  inexorable.  "  I  beg  you  not 
to  listen  to  them,"  he  argued.  "  Their  of- 
fenses are  numerous  and  most  serious.  I  will 
be  the  public  accuser.  Offense  number  one: 
They  have,  as  you  know,  repeatedly  referred 
to  me  as  'Is  'Ighness.  That  is  nothing  less 
than  treason  and  deserves  death.  Offense 
number  two:  they  have  dared  to  ridicule  the 
costume  I  now  wear.  I  ask  you,  is  it  not 
eminently  respectable?  Is  it  not  even  beauti- 
ful? Such  an  offense  merits  the  torture." 

About  the  corners  of  Miss  Moore's  mouth,  a 
smile  played.  "  Have  they  really  dared?  "  she 
asked. 

"  I  assure  you,  Mademoiselle,  ^t  is  true,5* 
Bertrand  answered  solemnly. 

"  Innocent !  "  came  a  voice  from  the  floor. 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

"  No ;  I  know  you,"  she  asserted.  "  You 
have  come  here  to  torment  the  good  Vicomte 
de  Volney,  and  to  interrupt  the  work  of  Mr. 
Bruce  Converse,  painter.  You  have  disturbed 
the  entire  house.  When  I  came  up  the  stairs 
every  tenant  was  out  on  the  landing.  You 
have  frightened  my  poor  Aunt  Ella.  She 
thought  the  house  was  being  bombarded ! " 

"  Innocent !     Mercy !  "  begged  the   culprits. 

"  Pronounce  the  sentence,  Eleanor,"  urged 
Converse  who  had  not  relaxed  his  grip  on  his 
victims.  "  Whatever  you  decree  shall  be 
done." 

Eleanor's  mobile  face  assumed  a  judicial 
severity.  "  Will  you  boys  promise  to  allow 
your  friend,  who  is  a  painter  and  who  works  for 
his  living,  to  carry  on  his  labors  in  peace  ?  " 

"  We  promise,"  loudly  assented  all  three. 

"  Will  you  promise  not  to  molest  the  good 
Vicomte  de  Volney  ?  " 

"  We'll  be  gentle  with  'Is  'Ighness,"  prom- 
30 


AN  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS 

ised  one  for  all.  I  think  it  must  have  been 
Mr.  Sammy  Potts  who  spoke. 

"  Will  you  solemnly  declare  you  will  never 
again  frighten  the  life  out  of  my  poor  aunt?  " 

"  Never  again." 

"  Then  let  them  up,  Bruce,  and  I  will  pro- 
nounce sentence." 

Converse  rose,  stretching  himself  as  one 
does  after  a  good  morning's  exercise.  The  two 
young  gentlemen  got  to  their  feet  stiffly,  rub- 
bing themselves  a  good  deal.  "  Now  face  your 
judge,"  commanded  the  artist. 

"  '  Oh,  how  delightful, 
Oh,  how  entrancing,' " 

sang   that   incorrigible   Mr.    Sammy   Potts   as 
the  three  formed  a  line  like  soldiers  before  the 
young  girl.     She   raised   a   slender  hand   and 
pronounced  the  single  word: 
"  Banishment ! " 

31 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

There  were  groans  from  the  three  offenders. 

Eleanor's  judicial  severity  relaxed.  "  Ban- 
ishment," she  continued,  "  to  my  apartment 
below  while  I  get  some  coffee  for  you,  for  the 
chances  are  you  boys  haven't  yet  had  your 
breakfasts.  You  really  need  some  one  to  look 
after  you.  And  while  I  am  making  your  coffee, 
you  can  be  making  your  peace  with  Aunt 
Ella." 

"Oh,  joy!"  they  cried  and  probably  would 
have  gone  dancing  about  the  room,  had  not  a 
gesture  from  Miss  Moore  stopped  them. 

"  Now,  then,  off  with  you,"  she  ordered. 
"  And  I  shall  go,  too,  and  leave  Bruce  to  his 
work.  You  really  should  be  ashamed  to  waste 
his  time  with  your  nonsense.  When  you  have 
had  your  coffee,  you  must  take  yourselves  off, 
for  I  have  my  own  work  to  do  which  your 
pitched  battle  up  here  interrupted."  But  the 
three  were  not  there  to  hear  this  last  reproach. 
They  had  already  gone,  noisily  scampering 
32 


AN  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS 

down  the  stairs.  Eleanor  turned  to  follow 
them,  but  at  the  door  she  paused. 

"  Bruce,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  were  simply 
superb !  I  would  not  have  missed  it  for  any- 
thing. I  wish  I  had  a  picture  of  it."  The 
vivid  color  again  leaped  into  Mr.  Converse's 
face,  but  if  Eleanor  observed  it,  she  gave  no 
sign.  She  threw  back  a  glance  at  De  Volney. 

"  Good-by,  Your  'Ighness,"  she  smiled  as 
she  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   BRILLIANT  PAINTER,   WHO   IS   HABD  UP,   LEARNS 
OF    A    WEALTHY    PATRONESS,    BUT   WITH    UN~ 
HEAKD-OF  AUDACITY  MAKES   OBJEC- 
TION TO  RECEIVING  HER  AID 

IT  was  with  a  careful  minuteness  that 
Bertrand  de  Volnej  regarded  the  face  of 
his  friend,  Bruce  Converse.  He  observed  the 
little  bright  lights  that  were  as  fires  in  the 
artist's  blue  eyes;  he  saw  the  look  of  great 
happiness  upon  the  features.  Converse  went 
and  stood  before  an  open  north  door  of  the 
studio  that  gave  upon  a  wide  balcony  over- 
looking the  Luxembourg.  Bertrand  observed 
how  his  eyes  seemed  to  drink  in  the  spring-time 
freshness  of  the  trees. 

"Ah,    De    Volney!     'The    year's     at     the 
spring,' ''     he    quoted,    nor    did    the    note    of 
buoyant    joy    in    his    voice    escape    Bertrand. 
34 


A  WEALTHY  PATRONESS 

When  Converse  turned  again  to  the  studio, 
he  seated  himself  before  his  easel,  picked  up 
his  brushes  and  palette,  and  as  he  resumed 
work,  whistled  softly  to  himself  strains  from 
Aida. 

Now  whistling  is  an  Anglo-Saxon  accom- 
plishment rarely  possessed,  or  employed,  by 
the  French.  "  When  an  American  whistles," 
De  Volney  reflected,  "  he  is  either  worried  or 
happy.  My  friend  Converse  does  not  seem 
to  be  worried." 

"Are  you  so  happy  that  you  whistle?"  he 
asked  aloud. 

"  Aye,  that  I  am ;  mats  oui,"  Converse  an- 
swered, without  looking  up.  "  Who  would  not 
be  on  such  a  day  as  this  ?  " 

De  Volney  was  silent.  Presently  he  spoke 
again.  "  You  are  not  greatly  curious  to  hear 
the  news  I  bring?  " 

Converse  leaped  to  his  feet.  "  My  dear 
fellow,  forgive  me.  I  had  forgotten.  I  was 
thinking  —  I  —  I  — "  he  stammered,  confused, 
35 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

concluding  lamely :  "  Those  foolish  boys  quite 
put  it  out  of  my  head.  What  is  it?" 

"  I  am  afraid  it  may  not  be  so  very  im- 
portant, after  all,"  De  Volney  replied,  still  re- 
garding him  critically.  "  I  am  here  so  early 
this  morning  because  I  wished  to  be  the  first 
to  congratulate  you.  Yes,  I  wished  to  be  the 
first  to  tell  you  that  your  picture  in  the  salon 
has  been  sold." 

Bruce  Converse's  expression  of  surprise  and 
pleasure  showed  how  welcome  was  the  news 
De  Volney  had  brought.  "  Important !  "  he 
cried.  "  You  know  better  than  any  one  else, 
De  Volney,  how  very  important  it  is  to  me. 
You  know  all  that  it  means  to  me  to  sell  this 
picture  now.  And  it  was  like  you  to  come 
over  here  to  tell  me  about  it ;  quite  like  you, 
my  friend."  He  shook  De  Volney's  hand  so 
hard  that,  if  Bertrand  had  not  possessed  a 
strong  grasp  of  his  own  and  seasoned  muscles, 
I  think  he  must  have  found  the  proceeding 


A  WEALTHY  PATRONESS 

painful.  He  diverted  the  current  of  the 
artist's  gratitude  with  a  question. 

"  You  are  not  anxious  to  know  who  it  is 
that  has  bought  it?  " 

Converse  smiled.  "  My  clear  De  Volney, 
the  great  thing  is  that  it  is  sold.  Why  try  to 
conceal  the  fact  that  I  need  the  money ;  that  I 
am  a  sec,  as  you  say." 

"  And  you  are  not  curious,  even  if  the  pur- 
chaser be  a  lady?  " 

"A  lady!" 

"  And  a  most  charming  one,  parole  d'hon- 
neur,  one  of  your  compatriots  who,  I  have 
the  great  honor  to  say,  is  a  friend  of  mine, 
Madame  Leslie  Pointer." 

Converse  echoed  her  name.  The  lady  was 
well-known  to  him  by  reputation  as,  indeed, 
she  was  to  nearly  all  of  that  contingent  known 
as  the  American  colony  in  Paris.  She  was  a 
lady  of  great  wealth,  a  widow,  young  still  and 
most  beautiful,  who,  possessing  a  generous 
37 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

heart,  had  liberally  aided  those  many  chan- 
ties which  the  Americans  and  English  in- 
augurate in  France.  But  the  announcement 
that  Madame  Pointer  was  the  purchaser  had 
an  unexpected  effect  upon  Bruce  Converse. 
Plainly  he  showed  his  perturbation.  His  na- 
ture was  not  one  that  could  easily  conceal,  so 
he  turned  now  to  his  friend  and  spoke  out  that 
which  burdened  his  mind. 

"  You  are  a  good  friend,  De  Volney.  I  wish 
to  thank  you,"  he  began  hesitatingly. 

"  It  has  been  nothing,"  the  other  inter- 
posed. 

Mr.  Converse  went  on,  waving  aside  the  (dis- 
claimer. "  It  is  because  you  are  my  friend, 
my  good  friend,  thinking  always  of  some  way 
to  exhibit  that  friendship,  that  my  conscience 
now  is  not  at  rest." 

The    Vicomte     de    Volney    was    perplexed. 

There  was   something  in  the  attitude  of  this 

tall   young   man,   standing   so   straight   beside 

him  with  clear  eyes  fixed  searchingly  upon  his 

38 


A  WEALTHY  PATRONESS 

own,  that  assumed  the  significance  of  a  warn- 
ing. 

"  It's  just  this,"  Converse  continued.  "  I 
know  my  pictures  are  not  of  the  kind  that  sell." 

"  Did  not  the  government  of  France  buy 
one  of  your  pictures  for  its  gallery  in  the 
Luxembourg?  "  interrupted  De  Volney. 

"  Yes,  and  you,  yourself,  and  others  of  my 
friends,  most  of  whom  I  have  met  through  you, 
have  paid  out  their  money  for  my  work,  but 
that  is  all.  The  critics,  too,  write  nice 
enough  things  about  my  pictures,  but,  De  Vol- 
ney, I  do  not  deceive  myself;  there  are  few 
persons  who  really  like  what  I  do." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  the  painters  are  en- 
thusiastic— " 

But  Bruce  Converse  wavecl  his  remark  aside. 
"  Painters  can  see  what  I  am  after ;  they  can 
see  what  I  wish  to  do.  They  may  differ  with 
me  or  not,  but  they  can  understand  it.  I  am 
not  talking  about  them,  but  of  the  people  who 
buy  pictures.  There's  no  use  denying  it.  I 
39 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

know  it,  my  friend,  and  you  know  it.  Such 
people  do  not  want  the  work  of  a  man  who  is 
trying  to  break  away  from  old  methods. 
They  want  something  that  is  more  like  the  pic- 
tures to  which  they  have  grown  accustomed." 
The  thought  brought  a  line  of  bitterness  about 
his  lips.  "  It's  hard  enough  to  keep  on  doing 
a  thing  in  the  way  one  believes  is  right  when 
no  one  wants  it,  no  one  cares.  I  beg  your  par- 
don, my  friend,"  he  added  quickly  when  De 
Volney  raised  a  gloved  hand  in  protest  — 
"  almost  no  one.  I  do  not  count  in  what  I 
have  been  saying  men  like  yourself  and  Prince 
Florimond  de  Saint-Sauveur  " —  he  was  good 
enough  to  mention  my  name,  De  Volney 
told  me  — "  although  your  encouragement  and 
your  faith  have  meant  more  to  me  than  I  can 
ever  express.  But  it  alone  is  not  enough.  I 
can  not  go  on  forever  with  just  the  faith  of 
one  or  two  devoted  friends  who  buy  my  pic- 
tures, or  get  those  they  know  to  buy,  out  of 
charity  to  help  a  poor  devil  along." 
40 


A  WEALTHY  PATRONESS 

The  Vicomte  de  Volney  took  his  time  about 
replying.  The  surest  way  to  confirm  a  pes- 
simistic mood  is  to  argue  violently  against  it. 
"  My  dear  Converse,"  he  assured  his  friend 
slowly,  "  what  you  say  is  not  new ;  we  have 
talked  of  it  before.  Your  experience  is  but 
that  of  every  worker  in  every  line  of  art,  who, 
striving  for  that  which  his  conscience  tells  him 
is  right,  sees  himself  passed  over,  his  work 
neglected  by  the  thousands  who  do  not  see  with 
his  eyes.  The  conscience  of  a  good  artist  is 
as  strict  as  the  conscience  of  a  good  woman. 
Do  you  suppose  that  good  women,  when  they 
see  men,  their  husbands  sometimes,  allured  by 
other  women  they  know  to  be  bad,  do  not 
suffer  temptation  ?  " 

Converse  gloomily  assented.  "  Of  course, 
of  course;  there  is  not  much  room  for  argu- 
ment about  it.  I  am  not  complaining  about 
not  being  understood ;  it  isn't  that ;  I  hope  I 
shall  never  flee  to  that  refuge  for  the  incompe- 
tent. But  what  was  on  my  conscience  was 
41 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

the  fear  — "  He  hesitated,  and  the  viscount 
waited  for  him  to  conclude  the  phrase. 
"Hang  it,  De  Volney,"  he  blurted  out,  "I 
(do  not  wish  to  seem  ungrateful,  but,  knowing  as 
I  do  that  these  pictures  of  mine  do  not  appeal 
to  many  persons,  I  can't  help  feeling  it  was  you, 
my  good  friend,  who  induced  Mrs.  Pointer  to 
buy.  You  know  how  beastly  hard  up  I  am. 
You  know  I've  come  pretty  near  the  end  of 
my  string  and  the  sale  of  this  picture  means  a 
lot  to  me,  but  I  can't  accept  it.  You  have 
idone  too  much  already,  and  it  isn't  fair  to  you 
and  it  isn't  fair  to  me  and  it  isn't  fair  —  no, 
it  isn't  fair  to  her." 

Bertrand  stroked  his  brown  beard  thought- 
fully. "  Ho,  ho!  So  it  is  that?  "  He  laid  a 
hand  affectionately  on  the  arm  of  the  young 
painter.  "  You  do  not  know  this  lady.  If 
you  did  you  would  not  believe  she  would  let 
herself  be  led  so  blindly.  Must  I  tell  you  what 
she,  herself,  said?  And  have  I  not  already 
done  so?  But  no,  I  will  tell  it  all  to  you,  on 
42 


A  WEALTHY  PATRONESS 

my  honor  as  a  gentleman.  I  Had  spoken  to 
her  of  you ;  I  had  said  that  you  were  my  friend. 
Yes,  I  had  said  that  much,  but  I  shall  tell  you 
what  happened.  When  we  entered  the  room 
where  your  painting  is,  she  went  through  the 
crowd  straight  to  it. 

"  '  See,'  she  said  as  I  followed  her,  *  there  is 
something  that  brings  real  sunshine  into  the 
room.'  I  said  not  a  word,  and  she  stood  be- 
fore your  painting  for  a  long  time  without 
speaking.  At  last  she  said :  '  It  is  the  most 
beautiful  picture  I  have  ever  seen.'  Then  it 
was  that  I  spoke.  '  Madame,  you  are  look- 
ing upon  the  painting  of  my  friend,'  and  I  was 
very  proud.  That  is  all.  She  did  not  answer, 
but  when  the  chattering,  pushing,  inquisitive 
crowd  of  vernlssage  day  swept  us  into  another 
room,  she  said :  '  Have  we  not  seen  enough  of 
pictures  for  one  day?'  And  when  we  were 
out  upon  the  street  again,  she  said :  '  I  wish 
that  he  were  also  a  friend  of  mine.'  *  Madame, 
he  will  be  most  honored,'  I  assured  her.  My 
43 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

friend,  you  will  pardon  me  that  I  spoke  for 
you.  It  could  not  be  otherwise.  Then,  as  we 
rode  in  the  Bois  this  morning,  she  told  me  she 
had  bought  your  picture  and  was  very  happy, 
and  even  as  she  spoke,  she  stopped  her  horse 
suddenly,  and  with  her  riding  whip,  pointed  to 
some  trees,  glistening  in  the  fresh  sunshine. 

" c  See,'  she  said,  '  those  are  your  friend's 
trees.  They  are  green  and  cool  and  living  like 
that  in  his  picture ! '  I  did  not  — " 

"Where  were  you?"  It  was  the  first  in- 
terruption Mr.  Converse  had  made.  He  had 
been  standing  looking  out  upon  the  waving 
tops  of  the  trees  in  the  Luxembourg  gardens, 
and  the  expression  of  doubt  and  perplexity  had 
slowly  faded  from  his  face,  as  De  Volney  had 
proceeded,  until  now  there  was  in  his  eyes  a 
new  look  of  confidence,  of  hope  and  resolve. 

"  We  were,  I  recall,  beyond  the  Cascades. 
We  had  just  turned  into  a  shaded  allee  to  our 
left." 

Mr.  Converse  nodded  his  head.  "  She  was 
44 


A  WEALTHY  PATRONESS 

quite  right,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  It  was  there  I 
painted  the  picture." 

The  viscount  smiled  within  his  beard. 
"  Then  am  I  forgiven,"  he  questioned,  "  that 
I  have  made  bold  to  invite  the  lady  here  to 
tea  this  very  afternoon?" 

There  was  an  expression  of  panic  upon  the 
face  .of  Mr.  Bruce  Converse  as  he  exclaimed : 
"  Tea  !  Here !  In  this  barn  of  a  place !  " 

"  She  desires  very  earnestly  to  see  my 
friend's  studio  as  well  as  to  meet  my  friend," 
De  Volney  explained  in  a  quite  imperturbable 
way. 

"  She'll  be  disappointed."  Converse  glanced 
apprehensively  about  the  large  workroom  lit- 
tered with  canvases,  some  barren  of  paint, 
books,  papers  and  small  art  objects  scattered 
about  in  apparently  hopeless  confusion. 

"  I  do  not  think  so."  De  Volney  had*  a 
quiet  way  of  expressing  his  convictions  that 
carried  weight. 

"  Besides,  there's  nothing  here  to  have  tea 
45 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

with  —  no  cups,  no  saucers,  no  tea,"  Con- 
verse objected. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  friend,  if  I  have  taken  the 
liberty  to  think  of  that  also.  They  can  be 
provided.  I  should  not  like  to  disappoint  this 
lady.  She  is  so  very  interested  in  this  work 
of  yours  which  you  think  only  a  few  can  under- 
stand." He  smiled  a  little  ironically. 

The  expression  of  opposition  departed  sud- 
denly from  Mr.  Converse's  face  and  the  newly 
inspired  confidence  in  himself  returned.  "  All 
right,  it  can  be  done,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Yes,  I 
am  more  than  glad,  and  again,  my  friend, 
grateful  to  you.  I  shall  get  Eleanor  —  Miss 
Moore  —  to  arrange  it.  She  can  make  the 
place  presentable.  Yes,  Eleanor  can  carry  the 
thing  through  perfectly." 

Now  if  I  had  been  there  I  thfnk  I  should 
have  observed  the  smile  lurking  under  Ber- 
trand's  beard  swiftly  disappear  and  a  look 
of  anxiety  leap  into  his  eyes.  Eleanor  Moore ! 
He  had  not  counted  on  her!  But  he  was 
46 


A  WEALTHY  PATRONESS 

too  accustomed  to  schooling  his  emotions  to 
allow  his  countenance  to  betray  his  thoughts. 
"Miss  Moore?"  he  questioned,  but  quickly 
added :  "  Yes,  that  will  be  quite  charming ; 
yes,  yes,  entirely  so." 


CHAPTER  y 

ELEANOR 

CONFESSION  is  never  made  easier  by 
postponement,  and  since  this  is  a  truth 
established  by  the  experience  of  the  youngest 
of  us,  I  suppose  it  may  as  well  be  confessed 
now  as  later  that  the  Vicomte  Bertrand  de 
Volney  looked  upon  Miss  Eleanor  Moore  as  a 
most  real  and  imminent  danger  to  the  career 
of  his  friend,  Mr.  Bruce  Converse.  It  would 
have  seemed  strange  past  understanding  to  re- 
gard such  a  sweet  and  simple  creature  as  a 
danger  to  any  one,  did  you  not  already  know 
of  the  schooling  Bertrand  had  received  from 
his  learned  old  father,  and  most  firmly  he  held 
to  the  dogma  —  you  may  argue  about  it  if  you 
will  - —  that  an  artist  in  any  field  of  endeavor 
must  consecrate  to  that  art  the  first  inspiring 
48 


ELEANOR 

hours  of  manhood  or  womanhood.  Love  is  a 
flower  that,  plucked  too  soon,  may  wither,  and 
the  breast  that  guards  that  flower  when  newly 
gathered  must  shelter  no  other. 

If  I  had  but  twenty  spring-times  the  less,  I 
should  tell  you  of  Eleanor  Moore  in  a  way  that 
would  the  better  make  you  see  her,  or  —  I 
might  not  dare  to  tell  you  of  her  at  all  if  I 
had  twenty  spring-times  the  less !  For  some- 
times when  I  have  thought  of  her,  or  when  I 
have  beheld  her,  and  felt  the  sympathetic  hu- 
man appeal  of  her  beauty,  romantic  thoughts 
have  upset  all  philosophy  in  my  brain,  and 
often  between  my  eyes  and  the  book  I  read, 
the  work  of  some  dry  scholar  dead  long  ago, 
there  have  come  such  visions  that  I  have  gone 
to  stand  before  my  glass  that  I  might  take 
timely  note  of  the  fact  that  my  hair  is  gray  at 
the  sides  and  distressingly  thin  on  top;  and 
recalling  this,  I  have  said  to  myself:  "  Flori- 
mond  de  Saint-Sauveur,  whatever  may  happen 
to  you,  whatever  little  disappointed  griefs  you 
49 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

may  have  in  your  own  heart  unknown  to  any 
one  else  in  the  world,  whatever  dreams  may 
come  into  your  romantic  head,  you  will  never, 
never,  never  be  an  old  fool.  You  will  never, 
never  make  yourself  believe  that,  at  fifty,  your 
ancient  image  can  fill  the  wonderful  mirror  of 
a  young  girl's  heart !  " 

No,  no,  I  merely  look  on  at  the  comedies  I 
see  played  about  me  every  day,  and  I  do  not 
aspire  to  a  great  part.  If  it  may  be  that 
sometimes  when  I  see  the  comedy  becoming  too 
serious  I  may  have  the  privilege  of  preventing 
it  from  turning  into  tragedy,  I  am  content. 
That,  I  think,  is  my  mission  in  life:  to  watch 
the  plays  that  others  act,  and  sometimes  to 
applaud,  and  now  and  then  to  give  a  word  of 
advice  to  the  actors  which  they  may  accept,  or 
not,  as  they  consider  wise. 

So  I  may  tell  you  of  Eleanor  Moore  calmly. 

Make  for  yourself,  then,  of  the  colorless  words 

I  give  you,  the  portrait  of  a  young  girl  rather 

tall,  inclined  to  slenderness,  a  something  boy- 

50 


ELEANOR 

ish  in  the  figure  and  in  the  frank  gaze  resting 
upon  you  from  eyes  as  deep  blue  and  luminous 
as  an  August  star-filled  night;  eyebrows  dark 
and  slightly  arched  that  cast  blue  shadows 
when  the  eyelids  close;  a  wide  mouth  well  ac- 
quainted with  friendly  laughter;  lips  red 
and  soft,  the  under  one  a  long  full  curve,  the 
upper  thinner  and  forming  a  delicious  bow ; 
the  nose  straight  and  delicately  modeled; 
cheeks  of  creamy  whiteness ;  a  low  forehead 
above  which  hair  almost  black  waves,  giving 
here  and  there  a  glint  of  burnt  sienna  such  as 
one  sees  in  polished  mahogany.  Picture  such 
a  head  set  upon  the  column  of  a  rounded  slen- 
der neck  that  gives  it  a  poise  of  womanly 
dignity,  and  you  have  a  portrait  of  Eleanor 
Moore,  such  as  a  photographer  might  make  of 
her.  But  how  can  I  describe  to  you  what  a 
painter  would  put  in  the  picture?  He  would 
show  the  lips  smiling  in  good  fellowship,  with, 
perhaps,  the  straight  white  teeth  just  visible 
as  if  the  smile  were  about  to  broaden  into  a 
51 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

laugh,  for  often  that  was  her  expression ;  and 
he  would  paint  the  deep  blue  eyes  aglow  with 
kindly  sympathy,  causing  you  to  be  aware,  in 
looking  upon  the  beauty  of  the  face,  of  the 
greater  beauty  of  the  soul. 

But  no  painter  could  portray  for  you,  or 
tell  you,  with  his  art  of  her  wonderful  voice, 
of  which  Karylli,  her  singing  master,  said: 
"  There  is  not  another  voice  like  it  in  the  world ; 
elle  vient  du  du  diable  ou  du  bon  Dieul " 
Karylli,  the  wisest  and  wickedest  maestro  in  all 
Europe.  It  may  be  that,  spellbound,  you 
yourself  have  listened  to  her,  yes,  that  you  have 
had  your  soul  thrilled  by  her  singing,  but  you 
could  not  have  known  that  Elenori,  the  divine 
Elenori,  was  Eleanor  Moore.  It  was  Signor 
Tonnelli,  the  little  king  of  his  realm  of  opera, 
who  gave  to  her  that  nom  de  theatre,  smiling 
and  rubbing  his  hands  because,  he  said,  it  was 
an  absurd  name  that  she  would  make  famous. 
He  was  like  that;  he  liked  to  smile  when  he 
52 


ELEANOR 

boasted.  But  all  that  is  far  ahead  of  my 
story. 

My  memory  pleases  itself  to  rest  upon  that 
afternoon  in  Mr.  Converse's  studio.  There 
was  so  much  of  laughter  and  gay  talk  and  high 
spirits,  and  all  who  were  there  became  good 
friends  so  quickly. 

Bertrand  had  come  to  me,  bearing  Mr.  Con- 
verse's invitation  to  the  tea,  and  he  had  par- 
ticularly requested  me  to  be  early  at  the 
studio.  He  was  most  anxious,  for  his  friend's 
sake,  that  Madame  Pointer  should  be  favorably 
impressed  with  Mr.  Converse  and  the  studio 
tea. 

"  Be  sure  to  te  on  hand  early,  Florimond," 
he  had  cautioned.  "  We  must  do  all  we  can 
to  make  it  go  off  smoothly  and  —  and  —  well, 
get  around  in  time  to  look  things  over,  will 
you,  and  see  that  Converse  has  everything 
necessary." 

I  fear  Bertrand  did  not  feel  very  sure  of  Mr. 
53 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Converse  as  a  host,  nor  was  he  very  sure  of 
Miss  Moore,  either,  but  he  did  not  know 
Eleanor  as  well  as  I  did. 

Miss  Moore  lived  with  her  aunt,  Mrs. 
Crackenby,  two  floors  below  Mr.  Converse's 
studio.  Mrs.  Crackenby  was  a  dry,  thin, 
nervous  little  lady  whose  character  was  amus- 
ingly contradictory,  for  one  day  she  would 
be  assertive  and  independent,  dictating  what 
the  whole  world  should  do,  and  the  very  next 
day,  perhaps,  would  find  her  quite  helpless  and 
meek,  leaning  upon  Eleanor  for  moral  support 
and  counsel.  It  was  she  who  had  been  re- 
sponsible for  Eleanor's  opportunity  to  study 
in  Europe.  Mrs.  Crackenby  had  been  a  veri- 
table general  in  the  affair,  riding  over  the 
objections  of  poor  Mrs.  Moore,  her  sister 
—  objections  that  Mrs.  Crackenby  in  the  heat 
of  argument  characterized  as  "  sentimental 
selfishness  " —  and  defraying  the  expenses  for 
the  experiment  out  of  her  own  purse,  which 
was  none  too  well  filled.  But  once  arrived  in 
54 


ELEANOR 

Paris,  she  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  ex- 
tolling the  advantages  of  her  own  country  and 
lauding  her  own  people,  to  the  great  disad- 
vantage of  "  these  foreigners,"  as  she  called 
the  French  among  whom  she  had  come  to  dwell. 
On  one  point,  however,  she  was  invariably 
consistent:  her  confidence  in  Eleanor's  future 
never  wavered;  she  was  certain  that  some  day 
"  that  child's  voice  "  would  be  heard  all  over 
the  world.  Her  pride  in  her  favorite  niece 
furnished  the  theme  of  her  daily  conversation, 
and  might  have  reached  the  point  of  being 
ridiculous,  or  pathetic,  had  it  not  been  so  well 
justified. 

On  my  way  to  the  studio  I  knocked  at 
Eleanor's  door.  She  opened  it  in  person. 
Try  as  I  may  to  remember  the  dress  she  wore, 
I  can  not.  All  I  know  is  that  it  gave  the  im- 
pression of  summer,  light  and  cool  and  fresh 
and  dainty,  and  that  somewhere  about  it  there 
was  a  shade  of  pale  green  like  the  green  one 
sees  in  the  stems  of  white  lilies.  I  can  re- 
55 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

member  quite  clearly  though  that,  as  she  stood 
at  the  door,  she  wore  over  her  dress  an  apron. 
It  was  not  a  real  workaday  apron,  I  am  con- 
vinced, but  a  make-believe  affair  of  lace  and 
sheer  linen  that  seemed  to  say  to  the  beholder  : 
"  We  are  very  busy,  for  we  are  working  to- 
day, but,  if  you  insist,  we  have  plenty  of  time 
to  talk  to  you." 

Eleanor  greeted  me  with  a  smile.  "  You 
have  caught  me  in  the  last  act  of  breaking  up 
poor  Aunt  Ella's  home,"  she  said.  "  You  are 
just  in  time  to  help.  Wait." 

She  disappeared  but  was  back  again  in  an 
instant,  holding  aloft  a  huge  gleaming 
samovar.  I  made  haste  to  deposit  my  hat  and 
cane  and  relieve  her  of  the  burden. 

"  Will  you  take  it  up-stairs  to  the  studio  for 
me?  "  she  asked.  "  I  wouldn't  trust  those  boys 
with  it." 

I  bowed  as  well  as  I  could  with  that  great 
thing  in  my  arms,  and  I  suppose  I  must  have 
presented  a  grotesque  picture  for  she  laughed 
56 


I  bowed  as  well  as  I  could 


ELEANOR 

outright.  "  Don't  go  yet,"  she  said,  "  Aunt 
Ella  really  must  see  you."  She  came  closer 
and  whispered :  "  Beware  of  Aunt  Ella.  She 
is  in  despair.  She  believes  the  revolution  has 
really  come  at  last." 

"  Aunt  Ella !  "  she  called,  and  Mrs.  Crack- 
enby  came  from  an  adjoining  room.  I  was 
not  unprepared  for  her  accusatory  greeting. 

"  You,  too !  "  she  exclaimed  sadly,  with  all 
the  disappointment  in  her  voice  that  Caesar 
must  have  employed  in  addressing  Brutus. 
"  So  even  you  will  help  Eleanor  rob  our  home 
of  everything  it  holds.  All  day  I  have  done 
nothing  but  watch  one  loved  possession  after 
another  disappear.  I  have  stood  here  help- 
less to  avert  the  ruin." 

"  Now,  auntie,"  interposed  Eleanor,  **  don't 
scold  Prince  Florimond.  He  can't  help  it." 

"  Assuredly,  Madame,  I  can  not,"  I  made 
haste  to  say.  "  I  am  impressed  into  the  service 
of  the  queen." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  just  as,  before  you  came, 
57 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

those  three  boys  were  impressed  into  *  the  serv- 
ice of  the  queen.' '  She  was  slightly  sarcastic, 
I  fear.  "  Those  boys  have  taken  nearly  every 
article  of  furniture  I  own  and  have  mounted  up 
those  stairs  with  it  all.  It's  been  going  on 
since  morning.  Our  beds  are  almost  the  only 
things  they  left  us.  My  home  is  wrecked,  de- 
spoiled, but  I  never  thought  you  would  assist 
these  young  vandals.  I  am  disappointed,  sir." 

"  Flee,"  warned  Eleanor.  Again  I  bowed 
with  as  much  grace  as  I  was  able  to  command 
and  lost  no  time  in  departing.  "  I'll  be  up  as 
soon  as  I  take  off  this  apron,"  Eleanor  called 
to  me  and  I  turned  in  time  to  see  her,  still 
laughing,  give  Mrs.  Crackenby  a  sly  kiss,  and 
to  hear  her  say :  "  Now,  you  know,  Aunt 
Ella,  you  really  love  teas." 

The  poor  lady's  protest  reached  me  as  I 
climbed  the  stairs.  "  I  like  tea  in  my  own  home 
with  my  own  things,  or  in  somebody's  else's 
home  with  somebody  else's  things  but,  not  in 
somebody  else's  home  with  my  own  things ! " 
58 


ELEANOR 

I  entered  the  studio,  bearing  on  high  the 
gleaming  samovar,  like  a  votive  offering. 
There  was  a  chorus  of  appreciation  from  the 
three  young  gentlemen  and  Bruce  Converse,  re- 
garding me  wryly,  remarked:  "  So,  she  has 
put  you  to  work,  too." 

"  She  has  so  far  honored  me,"  I  replied,  as  I 
put  down  my  burden  on  a  table  and  took  a 
view  of  the  transformed  studio.  One  really 
would  not  have  recognized  it.  Eleanor's  magic 
hands  had  converted  it  into  a  most  attractive 
place,  but,  as  I  gazed  upon  pictures,  rugs, 
tables,  chairs,  ornaments  and  tea  things,  I 
realized  the  justice  of  poor  Mrs.  Crackenby's 
complaint.  Her  household  gods  had  all  been 
taken  away  to  do  honor  to  Mr.  Bruce  Con- 
verse's guests. 

Eleanor  had  found  time  to  obtain  flowers 
from  a  shop  in  the  Rue  Vavin,  roses,  hortensias 
and  bluets,  which  were  tastefully  arranged 
about  the  room  and  when,  presently,  she  ap- 
peared with  Mrs.  Crackenby,  she  brought 
59 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

sprays  of  muguet  for  every  one,  including  my- 
self, and  pinned  the  good-luck  blossoms  on  our 
coats.  When  she  was  performing  this  service 
for  Converse,  I  overheard  him  say  to  her  quite 
tenderly :  "  You  are  a  wizard ;  you  have  made 
this  old  barn  of  a  place  into  a  real  home.  If 
you  weren't  so  good-looking,  Eleanor,  they 
would  burn  you  for  a  witch.  You've  made  me 
want  to  have  a  real  home  of  my  own.  I  intend 
to  fix  up  this  place,  with  your  help." 

She  was  very  pleased;  I  could  see  that,  and 
I  saw  her  pat  the  flower  in  his  buttonhole  gently 
as  she  finished  fastening  it.  "  This  will  bring 
you  happiness  and  good  fortune,"  she  said. 

He  caught  her  hand  as  she  was  hurrying 
away  and  detained  her. 

"  After  the  others  are  gone,"  lie  said  to  her, 
"  you  and  Aunt  Ella  and  I  will  go  somewhere 
for  dinner  and  celebrate  all  by  ourselves;  will 
you?" 

"  I've  my  practising  to  3o :  the  accompanist 


is  coming." 


60 


ELEANOR 

"  Then  put  it  off.  I  won't  take  any  refusal. 
It's  agreed,  then,  we'll  go  to  that  island  in  the 
Bois  and  have  the  man  row  us  over  in  his  big 
gondola  and  pretend  we  are  in  Venice." 

She  did  not  answer.  "  You  must  go  with 
me,"  he  said  again. 

Joy  demands  company.  Grief  may  sit  alone 
in  a  corner,  ashamed,  or  afraid,  to  knock  at 
another's  door,  but  Joy  rushes  in  and  cries : 
"  Put  aside  what  you  have  to  do  and  follow 
me,  for  I  am  Joy.  I  will  not  let  you  labor,  or 
sorrow,  but  you  must  come  with  me  and  share 
in  my  happiness.  I  will  not  be  alone !  "  It  is 
the  way  of  the  world,  and  it  is  a  good  way. 

There  was  not  much  general  conversation. 
Every  one  was  in  an  expectant  attitude  which 
was  most  apparent  in  Fiorella,  a  model  who 
had  been  fortuitously  engaged  to  act  as  maid 
for  the  occasion,  and  who  was  now  nervously 
trying  to  remember  her  duties.  The  service 
most  upon  her  mind  was  to  open  the  door 
promptly  when  any  one  rang,  so  she  did  not 
61 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

venture  far  away,  but  stood  with  eyes  on  the 
door,  as  if  it  had  been  a  bird,  and  she  a  cat, 
ready  to  spring  upon  it. 

Eleanor  had  seated  herself  at  the  table  with 
the  shining  samovar  steaming  in  front  of  her. 
Often  I  think  of  her  as  I  saw  her  then.  Her 
face,  usually  pale,  glowed  with  color  that  came 
and  went  under  her  white  skin,  and  in  her 
eyes  the  reflected  light  from  the  samovar  made 
little  stars  in  the  blue  night. 

I  was  standing  near  the  door  when  the  bell 
rang,  and  Fiorella  at  a  bound  opened  it  to 
admit  Madame  Pointer  and  the  Vicomte  de 
Volney.  With  them  was  a  Mr.  Spaulding 
Knapp,  a  short,  stout,  florid  gentleman  of 
middle  age  who  walked  heavily  on  his  heels.  I 
had  met  him  before  at  Madame  Pointer's.  He 
was  one  of  those  milllardaires  America  is  cele- 
brated for  in  Europe,  and  whose  doings  and 
opinions  attract  so  much  the  attention  of  their 
countrymen.  My  punctuality  in  arriving  at 
the  studio  had  its  reward  in  a  pleasant  smile 
62 


ELEANOR 

of  recognition  from  Madame  Pointer.  "  This 
is  a  delightful  surprise.  I  did  not  know  we 
were  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  here," 
she  said  as  I  bent  over  her  shapely  gloved  hand. 

Presentations  were  quickly  made  by  De  Vol- 
ney,  and  soon  every  one  was  laughing  and  talk- 
ing except  Mrs.  Crackenby,  who,  as  I  had 
several  times  before  observed,  maintained  an 
uncompromising  reserve  when  any  of  the 
"  foreigners "  were  near.  Madame  Pointer 
had  made  a  very  pretty  speech  to  Bruce  Con- 
verse about  his  picture  that  now  was  hers. 

"  You  have  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  friends 
you  possess,  Mr.  Converse,"  she  added,  "  for 
they  are  extremely  loyal  admirers.  I  hope  that 
henceforth  you  will  allow  me  to  count  myself 
among  them." 

He  was  greatly  flattered,  as,  indeed,  he 
should  have  been.  Any  one  would  have  been, 
I  am  sure,  for  Madame  Pointer,  beautiful  and 
attractive  as  she  was  always,  had  never,  it 
seemed  to  me,  appeared  more  charming;  but  I 
63 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

have  found  myself  saying  the  very  same  thing 
of  her  each  time  that  I  have  seen  her,  and  I 
shall  probably  say  it  more  than  once  again 
before  I  have  finished  this  history.  She  was 
dressed  in  one  of  those  costumes  of  severe  sim- 
plicity which  so  well  become  American  ladies. 
It  was  of  a  dark  soft  material,  and  there  was 
lace  at  the  neck  and  a  lace  blouse  showing 
under  the  coat.  The  only  note  of  color  was  a 
sweeping  bird  of  Paradise  on  the  dark  straw 
hat  under  which  the  carefully  coiffed  hair 
showed,  hair  of  a  soft  golden  brown  that  har- 
monized so  well  with  the  plumage  above  it. 

Have  you  not  observed  that  when  a  little 
company  is  gathered  together  and  a  slight  em- 
barrassment rests  upon  all  because  some  of  its 
members  are  strangers  to  the  others,  it  very 
often  happens  that  an  incident,  a  contretemps, 
centering  greater  embarrassment  upon  one  per- 
son for  the  moment,  will  so  relieve  the  rest  that 
immediately  the  atmosphere  of  constraint 
vanishes?  It  was  an  afternoon  of  such  mis- 
64 


ELEANOR 

haps.  Fiorella,  the  model,  quite  nervous  about 
her  new  and  unfamiliar  employment,  began  by 
shocking  every  one  when  Mr.  Spaulding  Knapp, 
who  spoke  no  French,  gave  into  her  keeping 
his  hat  and  cane. 

"  Will  you  take  these?"  he  asked,  and  see- 
ing that  she  failed  to  comprehend,  he  ques- 
tioned: "Do  you  speak  English?" 

"  Yes,  my  dar-r-ling,  goot-by,  damn ! " 
Fiorella  proudly  replied.  Poor  girl!  It  was 
all  the  English  she  knew.  Those  unconscion- 
able young  art  students  had  taught  her  to 
repeat  her  limited  vocabulary  in  that  parrot- 
like  fashion. 

Soon  after  the  unhappy  Fiorella  was  again 
the  unwilling  center  of  attraction.  Eleanor, 
preparing  the  first  cup  of  tea,  gave  a  little 
exclamation  of  horror  as  the  steaming  water 
flowed  from  the  samovar.  Immediately  all 
crowded  about  her,  gazing  into  the  cup.  It 
was  astonishing. 

The  water  was  a  brilliant  ultra-marine ! 
65 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Alas !  Fiorella  had  followed  the  example  of 
many  a  maid  more  experienced  in  house  clean- 
ing, and  never  having  before  seen  a  samovar, 
and  imagining  it  to  be  a  sort  of  ornamental 
vase,  she  had  used  it  as  a  catch-all.  The 
offending  object  was  fished  out.  It  was  one  of 
Mr.  Converse's  paint  brushes  which  he  had  been 
using  that  very  morning.  Fiorella  had  come 
across  it,  and  it  went  into  the  most  convenient 
hiding-place.  Eleanor  was  quite  crestfallen 
when  her  prized  samovar  was  abandoned  for  an 
ordinary  pitcher,  but  I  dare  say  the  tea  was 
all  the  better  for  that,  though  I  am  not  a 
connoisseur  in  the  matter  of  tea.  I  abominate 
it.  When  I  was  a  small  boy,  people  in  France 
never  drank  tea,  unless  they  were  sick,  so  it 
has  always  reminded  me  of  the  apothecary's 
shop. 

There  was  laughter  later  at  the  expense  of 

Mr.  Sammy  Potts,  Mr.  Johnny  Judd  and  Mr. 

Amos    Tuttle.     Madame   Pointer   was    greatly 

interested  in  the  young  gentlemen,  and  enthus- 

66 


ELEANOR 

iastically  appealed  to  Mr.  Knapp  to  share  her 
delight. 

"  Spaulding,  who  would  ever  imagine  they 
came  from  America?  Aren't  they  exactly 
what  you  have  always  expected  to  see  in  the 
Latin  Quarter?" 

That  remarkable  Mr.  Spaulding  Knapp  gave 
a  short  dry  laugh.  "  Not  I.  As  soon  as  I 
saw  them  I  knew  where  they  were  from.  I've 
been  over  here  often  enough  to  have  learned 
that  when  an  American  boy  fresh  from  the 
United  States  lands  in  Paris  to  study  art,  that 
costume  breaks  out  over  him  the  first  thing  like 
a  rash." 

Those  three  young  gentlemen  blushed  vio- 
lently when  every  one  laughed.  "  Roughhouse 
him !  "  came  the  quick  command  from  one,  and 
there  is  no  telling  what  might  have  happened 
if  the  Vicomte  de  Volney  had  not  just  then 
been  guilty  of  the  unpardonable  awkwardness 
of  dropping  his  cup  on  the  floor  —  Bertrand 
«de  Volney  of  all  men! 

67 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  am  so  glad  it  was  one  of  our 
cheap  ones ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Crackenby  be- 
fore she  thought,  and  that  diverted  the  laugh- 
ter away  from  Bertram,  but  Eleanor  was 
forced  to  go  into  an  explanation  of  her  aunt's 
unexpected  remark. 

It  seemed  that  no  one  was  to  escape.  Even 
my  turn  came.  We  had  all  been  talking  of  the 
noble  exercise  of  walking  —  footing,  as  we  say 
• —  and  I  had  proclaimed  my  own  prowess  per- 
haps a  little  vaingloriously,  for  ever  since  my 
youth  I  have  been  a  great  walker.  Mrs. 
Crackenby,  who,  as  I  knew  from  previous  con- 
versations with  her,  shared  my  enthusiasm  for 
pedestrianism,  and  who  had  a  way  of  airing 
her  sometimes  astonishing  French,  spoke  up 
with  a  tone  of  authority. 

"  Oil,  out;  je  le  sals.  Monsioo  est  un  vrai 
vieux  marcheur! "  Which,  if  you  do  not 
know  —  and  I  hope  you  do  not  —  I  must  tell 
you  means  something  very  different  from  what 
it  seems  to  mean.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
68 


ELEANOR 

I  heard  the  last  of  it  from  Bertrand  de  Volney. 

After  the  tea  Bruce  Converse  showed  us 
many  of  his  pictures,  placing  one  after  another 
in  the  frame  upon  the  easel,  and  that  surprising 
Mr.  Spaulding  Knapp  insisted  upon  buying 
three  of  them  for  his  gallery  at  home ;  and  they 
were  the  very  three,  as  I  knew,  that  Mr.  Con- 
verse most  prized.  De  Volney  and  I  exchanged 
glances.  Bertrand  was  openly  delighted  that 
this  Mr.  Knapp  should  show  such  a  true  ap- 
preciation of  Bruce  Converse's  work.  "  Eh 
bwn,  et  celui-ta,  .  .  .  -trouvez-vouy  quil  vous 
comprenn-e?  "  he  said  aside  to  Converse,  a  lit- 
tle maliciously. 

The  daylight  was  slowly  fading  when 
Madame  Pointer  rose  to  depart.  She  and  Mr. 
Converse  had  been  talking  earnestly  together. 

"  It  has  been  an  afternoon  of  such  real  de- 
light that  I  am  unwilling  it  should  end."  She 
extended  her  hand  to  the  painter,  and  in  her 
musical  voice  there  was  a  warm  cordial  vibra- 
tion. "  Can't  we  prolong  it?  The  Vicomte 
69 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

de  Volney,  Mr.  Knapp  and  I,  arc  dining  to- 
gether to-night  at  the  Pavilion  Henri  Quatre  at 
Saint-Germain,  so  that  we  may  look  over  the 
valley  and  see  the  lights  of  Paris.  We  should 
all  be  so  glad  if  you  would  join  us." 

Eleanor,  who  was  standing  near,  glanced 
quickly  at  Bruce  Converse,  and  a  shadow 
seemed  to  darken  the  blue  of  her  eyes  as  she 
heard  his  eager  acceptance.  Madame  Pointer 
turned  toward  her. 

"  Mr.  Converse  has  just  promised  to  make 
one  of  our  little  party  at  dinner  to-night,  Miss 
Moore.  Can't  you  and  your  aunt  go  with  us?  " 

Eleanor  shook  her  head.  "  I'm  sorry.  My 
accompanist  is  coming  and  I  must  work." 

"  Too  bad,  but  I  shall  not  attempt  to  per- 
suade you  away  from  your  work,"  Madame 
Pointer  responded,  her  eyes  meeting  those  of 
Eleanor  in  frank  friendliness.  "  I  have  heard 
of  your  singing,  and  some  day  I  hope  you  will 
give  me  the  pleasure  you  have  given  others. 
We  must  try  to  repeat  this  afternoon  soon. 
70 


ELEANOR 

It  has  been  very  delightful.  Such  joys  do  not 
come  to  us,  or  at  least  to  me,  so  often  that  we 
can  afford  to  neglect  them." 

Every  one  in  leaving  thanked  Eleanor  for 
the  afternoon,  just  as  if  she  had  been  the  host- 
ess and  the  studio  had  been  her  home,  and  not 
the  home  of  Mr.  Bruce  Converse.  Indeed,  I 
think  no  one  recalled  it  had  been  his  tea. 

When  at  last  her  aunt  had  gone  down-stairs 
and  Fiorella  had  departed  —  and  this  is  one 
of  those  things  I  learned  of  long  afterward ; 
would  to  heaven  I  had  known  of  it  then !  — 
Eleanor  was  left  alone  in  the  darkening  studio. 
The  rearrangement  of  the  furniture  had  been 
left  for  the  morrow,  but  in  setting  to  rights 
the  small  misplaced  objects,  as  most  women  will 
before  they  quit  a  room,  Eleanor  came  upon 
the  working  blouse  of  Bruce  Converse  with  the 
spray  of  muguet  pinned  to  it.  The  flower 
was  already  wilted.  She  smiled  wistfully  — 
he  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  And  then, 
though  she  herself  could  hardly  have  told  why, 
71 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

she  sank  into  a  chair  before  the  easel,  and  cov- 
ering her  face  with  her  hands,  sobbed  as  if  her 
heart  were  breaking. 

She  was  still  weeping  softly  when  Mrs. 
Crackenby,  whose  mood  of  independence  had 
been  slowly  returning  during  the  afternoon, 
called  up  from  the  second  floor  below: 

"Eleanor,  what  can  be  keeping  you?" 

There  was  a  note  of  injury  in  the  voice. 
Mrs.  Crackenby  waited  the  fraction  of  a  minute 
for  a  reply  before  she  launched  her  ultimatum. 

"  If  you  don't  come  down  I  shall  have  my 
dinner  alone.  You  may  tear  my  apartment  to 
pieces,  but  I  do  not  intend  to  have  my  dinner 
spoiled  as  well." 

Eleanor  dried  her  tears,  and  closing  the 
studio  door,  went  slowly  down  Ihe  stairs  to  her 
dismantled  home. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  GOOD   NIGHT  AT  THE  STUDIO  DOOK  THAT  TAKES 
A   LONG   TIME   TO   BE  SAID 

WOMEN  suffer  more  than  men  from  false 
pride.  By  false  pride  I  do  not  mean 
vanity,  which  the  sexes  share  about  equally, 
but  that  self-consciousness  which  causes  us  to 
fear  criticism,  or  misunderstanding  of  actions 
that  are  in  themselves  blameless.  I  believe  that 
many  a  spoiled  bud  of  romance  would  have 
opened  into  full  bloom  had  the  light  of  frank 
explanations  been  permitted  to  dispel  chilling 
clouds  of  doubt. 

If  Eleanor  Moore  had  said  to  Bruce  Con- 
verse the  next  day  when  they  were  restoring 
to  their  proper  places  the  borrowed  feathers 
that  had  made  his  studio  so  fine :  "  How  could 
you  so  soon  forget  the  little  flower  I  gave  to 
you  ?  "  or  "  Why  were  you  so  eager  to  accept 
73 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Madame  Pointer's  invitation  to  dinner  when 
you  had  already  invited  me?  "  it  is  probable 
I  should  not  now  be  writing  this  story ;  yes, 
it  is  very  likely  there  would  never  have  been 
any  story  to  write,  for  who  ever  heard  of  a 
book  about  a  young  man  who  said,  "  I  love 
you,"  and  his  sweetheart  answered,  "  I  love 
you,  too,"  and  they  were  married  right  away 
without  any  difficulties  intervening  whatever? 
No,  books  are  not  written  about  such  simple 
matters.  Yet  it  quite  often  happens  that  way 
in  life,  all  of  which  is  a  reason,  I  suppose,  why 
so  many  people  who  read  books  prefer  philoso- 
phies. 

However,  Eleanor  asked  no  questions  of  the 
sort,  but  listened  with  much  interest  while  Mr. 
Converse  told  her  the  dinner  had  been  delight- 
ful, that  Madame  Pointer  was  altogether 
charming,  and  that  he  had  found  Mr.  Spauld- 
ing  Knapp  to  be  a  very  discerning  art  critic. 
As  for  the  broken  engagement,  it  never  entered 
74 


GOOD  NIGHT 

his  head;  besides,  had  not  Eleanor  declined  his 
invitation,  even  though  he  had  said  he  would 
not  accept  her  refusal?  And  as  for  the  mu- 
guet,  Mr.  Bruce  Converse  never  once  thought 
of  it  again  until  he  found  a  sprig  of  grass 
pinned  on  his  blouse.  It  broke  into  bits  as  he 
removed  it,  and  he  smiled  quite  contentedly  as 
he  thought  of  how  successful  the  tea  in  his 
studio  had  been  and  what  a  trump  Eleanor  was 
to  go  to  all  that  trouble. 

But  they  had  dinner  on  the  island  in  the  Bois, 
none  the  less,  and  the  very  next  night ;  but  it 
was  too  cold  to  eat  under  the  trees,  so  they 
must  go  inside,  and  though  they  were  not  able 
to  make  believe  it  was  Venice,  they  all  had  a 
very  good  time  and  felt  better  for  it,  even  Mrs. 
Crackenby. 

"  Ever  since  you  showed  me  what  could  be 
done  with  that  studio  of  mine,  Eleanor,"  an- 
nounced Bruce  Converse,  as  the  three  drove 
back  to  the  city,  "  I've  determined  to  have  a 
75 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

home.  I  intend  to  spend  a  part  of  this  newly 
acquired  wealth  in  getting  things  to  make  the 
place  look  as  it  did  when  you  got  through  with 
it.  I  want  you  to  help  me,  for  there's  no  one 
who  knows  more  about  fitting  up  a  comfortable 
home  than  you." 

Mrs.  Crackenby,  who  was  not  given  to  sub- 
tleties, scented  a  vague  danger. 

"  If  Eleanor  ever  has  a  home  of  her  own,"  she 
proclaimed,  "  it  won't  be  over  here  among  for- 
eigners, but  in  her  own  country  where  she  be- 
longs." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Aunt  Ella,"  teased  Con- 
verse, who  long  ago  had  permitted  himself  the 
familiarity  of  adoption,  "  you  can't  pretend 
these  *  foreigners  '  aren't  able  to  teach  us  a 
good  deal." 

"  Oh,  I  admit  that  part  of  it,"  assented  Aunt 
Ella,  abandoning,  however,  none  of  her  attitude 
of  battle.  "  They're  older  than  we  are  and 
have  had  a  lot  more  time  than  we  have  ever  had 
to  paint  and  sing  and  play  the  piano,  but  peo- 
76 


GOOD  NIGHT 

pie,  I  hold,  belong  in  their  own  countries,  and 
after  they've  learned  what  the  foreigners  can 
teach  them  it's  time  they  should  go  back  home." 

Converse  laughed  heartily.  "  Be  careful, 
Aunt  Ella,"  he  warned,  "  or  I'll  have  to  take 
you  through  the  Louvre  again."  The  threat 
was  reminiscent  of  a  memorable  visit  to  the  old 
masters  when  Mrs.  Crackenby  had  summed  up 
her  impressions  by  saying  that  if  the  museum 
didn't  soon  get  something  new  the  people  would 
stop  coming  to  it. 

It  was  quite  another  Aunt  Ella,  an  Aunt 
Ella  complacent  and  yielding,  who  went  with 
them  when  Bruce  Converse  made  his  first  pur- 
chase for  the  home  he  was  building,  a  carved 
Breton  chest  that  he  had  often  admired  at 
Madame  Geiger's  shop  in  the  Boulevard  Mont- 
parnasse.  Madame  Geiger  squinted  at  them 
doubtfully  as  they  entered,  but  when  she  saw 
how  young  and  lovely  was  Eleanor  and  how 
handsome  was  Mr.  Bruce  Converse,  she  became 
quite  human  and  insisted  upon  showing  them 
77 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

sets  of  china  and  many  other  things  that  two 
young  persons  who  thought  of  beginning  house- 
keeping should  surely  have. 

More  than  one  treasure  left  Madame  Geiger's 
tempting  shop  that  day:  a  marvelous  ancient 
cave  a  liqueurs  of  inlaid  pearl  that  had  been  the 
state  present  of  a  Chinese  noble,  a  chaise-longue 
and  two  fauteuils  that  were  guaranteed  "  of  the 
epoch,"  a  complete  tea  service  and  I  know  not 
what  else ;  and  Mr.  Converse  insisted  that  he 
should  receive  them  all  that  very  afternoon  even 
if  he  had  to  go  out  himself  and  get  a  cart  to 
carry  them  away.  Madame  Geiger,  at  first, 
said  it  was  impossible,  as  she  always  does,  and, 
at  last,  she  consented  to  have  it  done,  as  she  al- 
ways does.  There  were  frames  to  be  bought, 
and  a  color  bill  to  be  paid  at  Monsieur  Foinet's 
in  the  Rue  Vavin,  and  so  many  other  things  to 
buy,  that  it  was  late  when  they  all  got  home, 
and  Mrs.  Crackenby  was  tired  and  almost  weep- 
ingly  complained  that  she  was  never  allowed  a 
moment's  peace  in  her  life.  She  felt  better 
78 


GOOD  NIGHT 

after  a  good  hot  dinner,  which  they  all  had  to- 
gether in  Mrs.  Crackenby's  apartment,  but  she 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  climb  the  stairs  to 
see  how  Bruce  Converse's  purchases  looked  now 
that  they  were  in  the  studio  where  good  Mon- 
sieur Guillou,  with  necessary  help,  had  placed 
them. 

Eleanor,  who,  if  she  was  tired,  did  not  say 
so,  helped  the  painter  arrange  his  new  pos- 
sessions. There  was  much  changing  about  to 
do  and  not  many  opportunities  to  rest,  but  it 
was  good  fun  and  she  enjoyed  directing  this 
young  giant  to  move  the  furniture  from  one 
place  to  another  and  watching  him  lift  the 
heavy  chairs  almost  as  easily  as  if  they  had 
been  jackstraws.  Implicitly,  he  executed  her 
commands.  Heavy  pictures  were  held  up  un- 
tiringly for  an  indefinite  time  against  the  wall 
until  she  could  decide  upon  exactly  the  spot 
where  the  nail  should  be  driven,  and  the  great 
Breton  chest,  which  took  three  men  to  carry  it 
up  to  the  studio,  was  dragged  about  the  room 
79 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

until  it  had  been  "  tried  "  in  every  available 
corner.  It  was  well  that  the  Russian  author 
who  lived  in  the  apartment  directly  below  had 
departed  with  his  family  for  the  summer. 

At  last  the  work  was  finished,  and  Bruce  Con- 
verse leaned  back  in  the  chaise-longue  and 
Eleanor  sat  in  one  of  the  chairs  that  was  of 
the  epoch,  and,  together,  they  surveyed  their 
achievement. 

"  It  really  begins  to  look  like  a  home,"  he 
announced  with  satisfaction.  "  I  feel  just  as 
if  I  were  going  to  be  married." 

Oh,  youth!  Oh,  spring-time  that  puts 
thoughts  of  nest  building  into  our  heads ! 
Eleanor  laughed.  They  were  both  very  happy. 

"  And  I  feel,"  she  said,  rising,  with  a  sigh  of 
content,  "  that  Aunt  Ella  will  soon  be  wonder- 
ing what  has  become  of  me." 

But  he  would  not  let  her  go.     She  must  stay 

a  little  longer   while  he   talked   of  his   future, 

which  now,  so  suddenly,  had  become  bright  and 

assured  to  him.     He  painted  for  her  that  fu- 

80 


GOOD  NIGHT 

ture  broadly  and  with  vivid  colors  as  he  painted 
his  landscapes.  Bruce  Converse  as  an  artist, 
or  as  a  man,  was  not  a  sentimentalist.  The  pic- 
ture he  painted  had  in  it  no  figure  of  a  woman, 
but  one  felt  rather  than  saw  there  the  presence 
of  one  who  was  fair  and  lovely  beyond  compari- 
son and  who  sang  throughout  the  summer 
day,  lending,  as  says  that  most  human  of  your 
great  poets,  the  music  of  her  voice  until  the 
world  was  filled  with  gladness.  Where  was  then 
that  little  cloud  that  for  a  moment  had  dark- 
ened Eleanor's  horizon?  Where  were  the  tears 
she  had  so  lately  shed  in  that  very  place? 
Gone,  and  in  their  stead  was  the  bright  sun- 
shine, lying  golden  and  warm  upon  green  trees, 
and  in  the  sky  the  rainbow  of  God's  promise. 

"  Good  night,  Bruce."  He  held  the  hand  she 
had  outstretched  to  him  until  they  were  upon 
the  landing.  Suddenly  he  raised  it  to  his  lips 
and  covered  it  with  kisses. 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  Eleanor." 
His  voice  trembled  and  the  hand  that  still  held 
81 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

hers  shook  a  little.  "  Sometimes  I  feel  that  I 
am  a  selfish  brute,  thinking  only  of  myself  and 
my  own  affairs  and  showing  you  very  little  of 
the  gratitude  I  feel  toward  you  for  all  that  you 
are  continually  doing  for  me." 

With  an  effort  she  held  her  own  voice  steady 
and  level,  and  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  unabashed, 
in  the  old  spirit  of  their  comradeship.  "  Good 
night."  And  she  went  swiftly  down  the  stairs. 

He  leaned  over  the  balustrade,  holding  for 
her  a  lighted  candle  that  illumined  the  steps 
and  cast  dark  wavering  shadows  in  the  corners. 
He  heard  her  key  enter  the  lock  of  her  door. 

"  Good  night,  Eleanor,"  he  called  down  to 
her. 

"  Good  night,  Bruce,"  the  half -whispered 
words  came  up  to  him. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    VICOMTE    DE    VOLNEY    PRESENTS    HIS    WELL- 
FORMED      THEORIES      OF      THE      DANGERS      OF 
LOVE    AND    MEETS    OPPOSITION    FROM 
AN  UNEXPECTED  QUARTER 

MAY  is  the  most  beautiful  month  of  all  the 
year  in  Paris.  It  is  then  that  the  trees 
are  greenest,  the  sky  is  bluest,  the  grass  softest 
and  the  air  clearest.  The  winter  blanket  of  dull 
skies  is  rolled  off,  and  Nature  leaps  out  of  her 
bed  with  a  little  sigh  of  contentment,  for  it  is  so 
good  to  be  alive.  It  is  then,  too,  that  the  chest- 
nut trees  along  the  Champs-Elysees  are  white 
with  bloom,  and  that,  alone,  is  enough  to  make 
the  city  beautiful. 

The  Vicomte  de  Volney  and  Madame  Leslie 

Pointer  were  among  those  who  strolled  down 

the  Champs-Elysees  on  that  fifth  day  of  May 

with  the  whole  world  made  radiant  by  the  beams 

83 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

of  the  afternoon  sun.  It  is  on  this  fifth  day 
of  May  that  many  years  ago  a  great  French- 
man breathed  his  last.  Now  the  Vicomte  de 
Volney  is  not  a  Bonapartist  and  neither  am  I. 
His  forefathers  and  mine  were  not  very  well 
disposed  to  the  little  corporal  who  tore  down 
the  lovely  temple  of  ancient  France  and  drove 
out  those  who  worshiped  therein,  but  those  days 
are  long  since  passed,  and  we  of  the  younger 
generation  know  that  General  Bonaparte  was  a 
great  man  of  France,  one  of  the  greatest  men 
of  all  times.  And  on  the  fifth  day  of  May, 
which  is  the  day  of  his  death  in  Sainte-Helene, 
the  sun  sets  directly  within  that  Arc  de  Tri- 
omphe  raised  to  his  fame.  If  you  stand  in 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  you  can  see  the  red 
ball  sink  between  the  sides  of  the  arch  like  a 
celestial  torch  illuminating  the  scarlet  path 
of  glory. 

It    is    a    sight    that    is    worth    seeing.     Pil- 
grimages have  been  made  —  yes,  for  a  long  time 
84 


THE  DANGERS  OF  LOVE 

they  were  made  every  year  —  just  to  see  what 
can  be  seen  on  no  other  day  in  the  entire  cal- 
endar, and  now  the  Vicomte  de  Volney  was 
walking  down  the  broad  tree-lined  avenue,  the 
most  beautiful  street  in  the  world,  that  he  might 
show  Madame  Pointer  this  wonderful  thing. 
They  made  their  way  in  leisurely  fashion,  with 
the  declining  sun  at  their  backs,  talking  about 
many  things  and  now  and  then  bowing  to  some 
passing  acquaintance  in  one  of  the  never-end- 
ing processions  of  automobiles  and  carriages 
that  swept  by  them.  The  fountains  of  the 
Rond  Point  were  playing,  and  they  stopped  for 
a  moment  to  watch  them  before  crossing  over 
the  avenue  to  the  side  nearest  the  river,  where 
they  stood  observing  the  effect  of  the  sun 
through  the  marble  archway.  While  it  made 
its  quick  brilliant  progress,  neither  of  them 
spoke. 

The  glorious  day  ended  in  a  burst  of  red 
that   tinged   the  whole  western  sky,  and  then, 
85 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

before  their  eyes,  the  red  began  to  fade,  chang- 
ing into  purples  and  orange,  with  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe  looming  up,  in  silhouette,  like  a  great 
black  tomb  at  the  top  of  the  avenue.  De  Vol- 
ney,  without  speaking,  touched  his  companion 
lightly  on  the  arm  and  motioned  to  her  to  look 
across  the  river.  The  winged  angels  of  the 
Pont  Alexandre  III,  with  their  leaping  horses, 
shone  like  molten  gold,  and  beyond  them,  over 
the  exquisite  roof  of  the  Invalides,  rose  the 
gilded  dome  of  the  real  tomb  of  the  emperor, 
catching  the  last  rays  of  the  dying  sun.  At 
that  moment  it  seemed  as  if  even  the  day  had 
been  ordained  by  the  great  conqueror  who  lay 
alone  in  the  crypt  below  that  dome  of  gold ;  yes, 
it  seemed  as  if  the  world  were  only  waiting  to 
follow  again  his  bidding  as  once  it  did. 

When  they  turned  to  go  they  were  both  still 
under  the  spell  of  that  grandiose  spectacle  they 
had  witnessed,  but  presently,  they  fell  to  talk- 
ing about  it,  which  is  always  an  indication  that 
the  first  ineffable  impression  one  has  received 
86 


THE  DANGERS  OF  LOVE 

has  hardened  into  the  tangible.  In  the  process 
of  fixing  it  upon  the  memory,  and  in  the  at- 
tempt to  define  what  one  has  felt,  there  is  some- 
thing that  escapes. 

Madame  Pointer,  her  sympathies  quickened 
by  what  she  had  seen,  spoke  with  feeling  of 
Napoleon  as  having  been  treated  ungratefully 
by  Destiny,  in  whom  his  faith  was  so  strong. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  Destiny?  "  asked  the  vis- 
count. 

"And  you?"  she  parried,  for  a  woman  likes 
to  have  first  the  opinion  of  her  questioner. 

"  Not  in  the  sense  that  it  is  blind  and  fatal," 
he  replied.  "  Men  make  their  own  destinies,  or, 
more  often,  their  destinies  are  made  for  them 
by  their  friends  or  their  enemies.  I  believe 
that  we  are  more  dependent  upon  our  friends, 
or  rather  upon  those  around  us,  than  we  are 
upon  ourselves." 

Madame  Pointer  looked  at  him  questioningly, 
not  concealing  her  surprise,  for  he  was  speak- 
ing with  unwonted  seriousness  and  his  words 
87 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

seemed  at  variance  with  her  estimate  of  his  own 
character.  She  did  not  consider  that  he  would 
lightly  brook  the  interference  of  either  friends 
or  enemies  with  his  own  affairs.  "  Don't  mis- 
understand me,"  he  continued  in  answer  to  her 
glance  —  he  had  a  way  of  responding  to  her 
questions  before  she  had  formulated  them  into 
words ;  "  I  do  not  mean  that  men  may  lie  back 
idly  waiting  for  their  friends  to  act  for  them. 
It  is  a  curious  fact  that,  no  matter  how  close 
our  relationship  may  be  to  others,  in  the  little 
crises  of  life,  as  in  the  last  great  crisis,  we  must 
take  our  way  alone.  But  it  is  also  true,  despite 
a  seeming  contradiction,  that,  sometimes,  a 
word  that  we  speak  aptly,  or  a  deed  that  is  done 
at  a  critical  moment,  may  change  the  lives  of 
our  friends.  It  often  so  happens  that  we  see 
their  way  more  clearly  than  they  can  see  it  for 
themselves." 

In  Madame  Pointer's  mind  was  the  clear  mem- 
ory   of    recent    conversations    that    they    had 
had  regarding  the   future   of  Bruce   Converse 
88 


THE  DANGERS  OF  LOVE 

and  of  Eleanor  Moore.  She  smiled  as  she 
asked,  with  a  touch  of  kindly  irony : 

"  And  you  would  like  to  play  the  part  of 
Destiny  in  the  career  of  your  talented  young 
friend,  Mr.  Converse?  " 

She  had  hoped  the  lightness  of  her  tone 
would  alter  his  mood,  for  never  had  she  known 
him  to  be  so  profoundly  serious ;  he  seemed 
almost  somber.  But  De  Volney  suddenly 
stopped,  and  facing  her,  looked  into  her  smil- 
ing eyes  with  an  earnestness  that,  in  spite  of 
herself,  startled  her.  "  Madame  Pointer,"  he 
said,  "  I  want  you  as  an  ally.  I  want  your 
help." 

She  could  not  hide  her  astonishment.  "  My 
help  ?  I  do  not  see  — "  she  began,  but  he  in- 
terrupted her. 

"I  need  your  help.  For  some  time  I  have 
worked  alone  —  for  a  long  time,  it  seems  to  me, 
ever  since  I  first  saw  the  possibility  of  those 
two  falling  hopelessly  in  love  with  each  other, 
making  wrecks  of  their  careers  merely  because 
89 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

they  do  not  know.  Now  I  feel  that  I  am 
doomed  to  failure  if  some  one,  some  woman, 
does  not  help.  It  is  not  I  who  am  doomed  to 
failure ;  the  real  failures  will  be  those  two  with 
talents  far  above  the  ordinary,  touching  al- 
ready the  higher  world  of  genius,  who  are  ready 
to  throw  it  all  away,  yes,  to  throw  all  that 
away  — "  He  was  speaking  more  rapidly  than 
was  his  custom,  and  the  English  words  overran 
themselves,  coming  as  they  would  without  his 
stopping  to  choose  them.  He  was  not  quite 
master  of  himself. 

"  They  could  be  so  much,  those  two,  they 
could  do  so  much ;  and  then,  at  this  time  while 
they  are  yet  forming,  while  their  minds  are 
still  the  minds  of  little  children  and  while  they 
are  so  swiftly  climbing  up  to  the  very  high 
places,  they  throw  it  all  away  for  —  love ! " 
He  could  not  conceal  his  contempt.  "  Oh,  if 
they  could  only  be  dissuaded ;  if  they  could  be 
prevented  from  doing  this  great  harm  to  them- 
selves ! "  His  open  hand  stretched  slightly  out 
90 


THE  DANGERS  OF  LOVE 

toward  her  in  appeal,  and  it  impressed  her,  for 
gestures  were  rare  to  him. 

"  I  know  you  will  argue,"  he  went  on.  "  I 
am  aware  of  what  you  have  already  intimated. 
Your  woman's  heart,  the  sensitiveness  of  all 
good  women  that  makes  them  shrink  from  caus- 
ing suffering  or  inflicting  the  slightest  pain, 
even  though  good  may  follow,  will  not  let  you 
see  this  as  it  is.  He  and  she  are  dropping  into 
this  thing  unconsciously.  They  don't  even 
know  they  are  in  love ;  at  least,  Converse  does 
not.  Men  seldom  do  know  they  are  in  love  until 
it  is,  as  you  say,  all  over.  She  suspects,  I 
think.  Women  generally  suspect." 

She  glanced  at  him  sharply  to  cletermine 
whether  cynicism  lay  under  his  remark,  but  she 
saw  in  the  man  before  her  only  one  who  was 
deeply  concerned  in  the  welfare  of  his  friend, 
and  her  disposition  to  taunt  him  for  taking  the 
subject  too  gravely  yielded  to  admiration  for 
one  whose  interest  in  another  was  so  genuine 
and  unselfish. 

91 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

"  Might  they  not  be  happy  together  and  aid 
instead  of  harming  each  other?  "  she  urged. 

As  if  he  had  again  discerned  the  working  of 
her  mind  and  had  seen  the  subtle  change  that 
had  been  brought  about  in  her  attitude,  his  own 
tone  altered  as  they  resumed  their  walk  up  the 
avenue.  He  no  longer  appealed,  but  discussed 
the  situation  of  his  friend  with  calm  logic. 
"  They  would  only  stand  in  each  other's  way," 
he  asserted,  in  reply  to  her  question.  "  Miss 
Moore  is  really  a  harmful  influence  to  Bruce 
Converse  at  this  time ;  that  is,  I  mean  the  senti- 
ment she  inspires  is  harmful  to  his  work  and  to 
her  own,  not  that  she  herself  is  harmful.  Cer- 
tainly, she  does  not  mean  to  do  him  any  in- 
jury. She  would  sacrifice  anything  for  him, 
for  his  success.  Women  are  like  that;  they 
make  sacrifices  more  readily  than  men  do." 

Madame  Pointer  smiled.  At  least  this  man, 
who  was  supposed  to  regard  all  women  as 
dangerous  potentialities,  knew  how  to  be  just. 

"  It  is  this  way,  to  illustrate,"  he  continued. 
92 


THE  DANGERS  OF  LOVE 

"  I  went  to  his  studio  yesterday.  Miss  Moore 
was  there.  It  was  in  the  morning  when,  as  she 
has  told  me,  she  generally  practises.  When  I 
came  in  he  was  seated  before  his  easel,  and  on 
it  was  a  big  unfinished  portrait  of  her.  Have 
you  seen  his  portraits  of  her?  " 

Madame  Pointer  answered  in  the  negative. 
She  had  been  to  Converse's  stuclio  once  since 
the  tea  and  she  recalled  that  she  had  seen  only 
landscapes. 

"  He  does  not  show  them  —  now,"  said  De 
Volney,  with  a  pause  before  the  last  word. 
"  They  are  bad  and  he  knows  it,  but  he  does 
not  understand  why.  It  is  because  he  is  not  a 
portrait  painter  and  never  should  attempt  to 
be,  but  it  disappoints  him  because  he  does  not 
succeed  when  he  tries  it.  He  becomes  dis- 
couraged, for  he  would  like  to  be  able  to  paint 
portraits.  Most  artists  who  paint  landscapes 
have  the  desire  to  paint  portraits  when  they 
are  young.  Converse  wastes  much  time  at 
them.  Now  Miss  Moore  knows  that  he  would 
93 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

like  to  be  a  painter  of  portraits,  and  because 
it  is  his  wish,  she  tries  to  help  him  gratify  it. 
She  poses  for  him.  She  does  all  that  she  can 
to  encourage  him.  She  does  not  understand 
that  it  is  bad  for  him.  Women  never  do  under- 
stand when  they  are  in  love  that  anything  can 
be  bad  for  the  man  they  love  if  he  wants  it. 
"  When  I  came  in  I  found  my  friend  in  one 
of  those  moods  that  invariably  follow  his  essays 
in  portraiture.  In  spite  of  all  the  encourage- 
ment he  has  had  recently,  he  was  In  the  depths. 
He  had  not  been  working.  Ah,  1  knew  what 
he  had  been  doing.  He  had  been  quarreling 
with  himself,  but  he  did  not  wish  me  to  know, 
for  I  had  talked  to  him  before.  I  went  to  the 
picture  and  looked  at  it  closely.  '  Take  care,' 
he  said ;  '  you  will  get  your  beard  in  the  paint.' 
It  was  a  little  subterfuge,  for  I  could  see  the 
canvas  was  quite  dry.  I  passed  my  hand  over 
it  just  to  show  him  I  knew  he  had  not  touched 
it  that  morning.  I  do  not  know  how  long  she 
had  been  there,  but  she  was  already  tired  from 
94 


It' 


'You  will  get  your  beard  in  the  paint' 


THE  DANGERS  OF  LOVE 

standing  while  he  had  been  trying  to  force  him- 
self to  the  task.  He  had  not  had  the  heart  to 
begin.  Poor  chap!  How  blue  he  was!  You 
see  how  it  is,"  he  concluded. 

An  automobile  drew  up  to  the  curb,  swing- 
ing in  swiftly  from  the  oil-blackened  center  of 
the  avenue.  From  it  leaped  Mr.  Spaulding 
Knapp.  He  came  toward  them  holding  out 
his  hand.  "Well  met!"  he  ejaculated.  "I 
got  a  glimpse  of  you  two  from  my  car  just  as 
I  was  on  my  way  to  the  Bois.  Let  me  take 
you  for  a  spin  before  it  is  quite  dark.  It  would 
be  a  great  pleasure." 

Madame  Pointer  welcomed  the  advent  of  this 
friend  of  her  youth.  She  was  vaguely  troubled 
by  the  Vicomte  de  Volney's  remarks,  and  more 
than  once  this  alert  shrewd  man  of  affairs  with 
his  quick  judgment  had  brought  her  comfort 
by  timely  words  of  advice. 

"  Spaulding,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  if  two 
young  persons  are  in  love  with  each  other,  is  it 
a  wise  thing  to  step  in  between  them  in  order 
95 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

that  they  may  follow  out  to  success  their  great 
careers  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  quizzically  as  if  he  expected 
some  jest  to  underlie  her  words,  but  in  the 
gaze  that  he  encountered  he  read  something 
of  her  perturbation.  Unhesitating!}7,  punc- 
tuating his  speech  with  a  short  decisive 
gesture,  he  gave  his  opinion.  "  All  the  careers 
of  men  and  women  the  world  has  ever  seen," 
he  declared,  "  are  not  worth  a  single  hour  of 
the  happiness  that  a  true  and  good  love  can 
bring." 

Madame  Pointer  glanced  at  De  Volney, 
mutely  challenging  him  to  enter  the  lists  with 
this  new  champion  whose  opinions  were  so  often 
dominant  in  great  affairs. 

"  I  am  surprised,"  answered  the  viscount, 
meeting  her  glance  and  speaking  slowly.  "  I 
had  thought  the  business  men  of  America  were 
so  practical,  so  wise.  I  did  not  know  they  had 
such  high  appreciation  of  —  of  sentiment." 

"  Viscount,"  replied  that  surprising  Mr. 
96 


THE  DANGERS  OF  LOVE 

Spaulding  Knapp,  "  that  is  one  of  your  mis- 
taken European  notions.  The  American  busi- 
ness man  is  really  the  most  romantic  idealist  in 
the  world  to-day." 

Both  Madame  Pointer  and  the  Vicomte  de 
Volney  laughed  heartily  at  the  unexpected  re- 
sponse. Mr.  Knapp,  however,  persisted. 

"  You  are  incredulous,  both  of  you  —  even 
you,  Leslie,  who  as  an  American  should  know 
better,"  he  said.  "  But  come,  I  will  convince 
you  as  we  ride  along." 

They  entered  the  automobile,  and  as  they 
made  their  way  through  the  Avenue  du  Bois 
past  the  returning  line  of  carriages,  he  con- 
tinued his  argument,  contrasting  with  keen 
humor  the  tranquil  satisfied  existences  of 
wealthy  Europeans  with  the  ambitious  fevered 
lives  of  American  millionaires.  "  They  work 
until  they  go  to  their  graves,"  he  said,  "  be- 
cause they  are  never  satisfied ;  and  the  lack  of 
satisfaction  is  the  proof  positive  of  the  pos- 
session of  an  ideal.  We  may  differ  about  the 
97 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

value,  or  the  beauty,  of  these  ideals.  It 
be  the  founding  of  a  great  university;  it  may 
be  the  bestowal  of  libraries  for  the  poor;  it 
may  be  the  building  of  hospitals  for  the  sick ; 
or  it  may  be  the  acquisition  of  power,  such  as 
inspired  your  own  Napoleon,  Viscount ;  but 
they  are  all  ideals  and  romantic,  too.  You 
can  not  deny  it." 

They  had  entered  the  Bois  and  were  swiftly 
speeding  through  the  allees  of  arched  trees. 
Bertrand  looked  at  Madame  Pointer.  He 
might  have  spoken,  but  he  saw  that  she  was  not 
attending  to  the  argument,  but  was  drinking  in 
the  peace  and  fragrance  of  the  darkening 
woods.  The  serenity  of  the  approaching  night 
seemed  to  communicate  itself  to  them  all,  and 
they  were  silent. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A    FAIR    PLOTTER    LISTENS    WITH    SWEET    CHARITY 
TO  A  DRY  DISCOURSE  ON  LOVE 

IT  was  very  soon  after  this  that  Gaspard 
brought  in  to  me  a  letter  from  Madame 
Pointer.  My  faithful  old  servant  is  becoming 
as  suspicious  as  a  cat.  His  solicitous  gaze 
was  fixed  on  me  as  he  delivered  the  missive  as 
if  he  would  have  said,  had  he  dared :  "  I  know 
the  handwriting  on  this  envelope.  I  have  seen 
it  before  on  letters  that  have  come  to  this  house. 
It  were  well  that  my  master  have  a  care."  Or- 
dinarily, Gaspard's  jealous  watchfulness  serves 
only  to  amuse  me,  but  now  I  was  conscious  of 
being  annoyed.  The  advent  of  Madame 
Pointer's  letter  had  coincided  happily  with  a 
moment  of  pleasant  fancy  I  wished  to  prolong, 
and  I  found  it  difficult  to  do  so  with  old  Gas- 
pard standing  by. 

99 


"  You  remain  there  idly  staring.  Is  it  that 
you  have  nothing  to  do?  "  I  asked  him  with 
some  acerbity. 

"  The  lady's  servant  who  brought  the  letter 
said  he  was  to  wait  for  an  answer."  Slyly  he 
had  let  me  know  that  he  was  not  ignorant  of 
the  identity  of  my  correspondent. 

"  I  shall  ring  for  you  when  my  answer  is 
ready."  He  withdrew  reproachfully.  Left 
alone,  I  sought  again  to  reconstruct  my  day 
dream.  Strange  how  the  imagination  paints  a 
vivid  complete  picture  from  the  most  trifling 
suggestion !  I  had  but  to  close  my  eyes  and, 
as  if  loosed  from  the  envelope  I  had  opened, 
there  seemed  to  come  into  my  room  the  womanly, 
gentle,  friendly  spirit  of  Madame  Leslie  Pointer. 
I  saw  her  there  before  me.  How  satisfying 
she  was  to  look  upon !  Here  was  one  whose 
beauty  was  mature,  yet  delicate  and  spiritual, 
like  the  pictures  of  the  Preraphaelites,  a  beauty 
of  the  type  that  the  English  people,  a  genera- 
tion ago,  claimed  as  their  own.  How  refined 
100 


A  FAIR  PLOTTER 

and  sympathetic  was  her  trained  intelligence ; 
how  kindly  and  companionable  her  humor !  I 
felt  I  had  but  to  open  my  eyes  and  she  would 
be  standing  there,  her  lips  parted,  ready  to 
speak.  Perhaps — 

"  Did  monsieur  ring? "  It  was  Gaspard, 
standing  at  the  door  stupidly.  Sometimes  the 
teachings  of  philosophy  are  difficult  to  put  into 
practise. 

"  I  had  not  even  formulated  the  intention  of 
ringing,"  I  said  to  him  with  severity,  and  his 
white  favoris  disappeared  again  behind  the 
closed  door  as  I  took  from  its  envelope  the  note 
Madame  Pointer  had  written.  It  was  brief: 

"  My  dear  Friend : 

"  Will  you  come  and  have  tea  with  me  this 
afternoon?  I  wish  to  see  you  on  a  matter  of 
importance.  I  shall  be  alone." 

Hastily  I  despatched  my  acceptance,  placing 
myself  at  her  disposition. 
101 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

How  beautiful  was  that  ride  to  Ville  d'Avray, 
w.Kere  Madame  Pointer  had  installed  herself 
in  a  villa  by  the  side  of  that  charming  lake  so 
beloved  of  Corot!  Impatient  and  spurred  by 
curiosity  though  I  was,  I  could  have  wished 
that  lovely  stretch  of  road  between  the  lines  of 
tall  poplars  were  longer.  Often  as  I  have 
traversed  it  I  would  have  prolonged  the  pleas- 
ure. 

The  day  was  quite  warm,  but  the  tree-tops 
swayed  lazily  to  a  light  breeze.  It  was  too 
warm,  in  fact,  and  the  moment  my  automobile 
stopped  at  the  villa  after  winding  through  the 
little  park  surrounding  it,  I  was  conscious  that 
the  day  was  considerably  hotter  than  we  are 
accustomed  to  early  in  May.  But  Madame 
Pointer,  of  whom  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  as  I 
drove  up,  looked  refreshingly  cool  as  she  walked 
gracefully  across  the  grass  to  greet  me.  Her 
dress  was  of  white,  of  fine  linen,  perhaps,  or  it 
may  have  been  of  the  material  that  is  called 
lawn,  for  there  was  about  it  a  softness,  the 
102 


A  FAIR  PLOTTER 

quality  of  caressing  the  figure,  that  fine  lawn 
has,  and  jet  it  had  that  crisp  freshness  one  ob- 
serves in  linen  dresses  and  is  grateful  for  on  a 
hot  day. 

She  led  the  way  to  a  tea  table  under  one  of 
the  great  oak  trees  near  the  villa,  and  no 
sooner  were  we  seated,  than  she  launched  into 
an  explanation  of  her  note.  De  Volney  had 
convinced  her.  Together  they  had  formed 
quite  a  plot  to  prevent  Eleanor  Moore  and 
Bruce  Converse  from  rushing  or  falling  or  leap- 
ing —  whatever  word  you  wish  to  express  pre- 
cipitate action  —  into  tangles  of  the  affec- 
tions that  would  divert  their  interest  at  this 
critical  time  from  their  careers.  She  and  De 
Volney  had  planned  well.  There  was  to  be  no 
active  opposition  such  as  only  too  often  fans 
the  flame  of  love,  but  Eleanor  and  Bruce  Con- 
verse were  to  be  hedged  about  so  artfully  by 
circumstances  that  they  would  naturally  drift 
apart  rather  than  toward  each  other.  De  Vol- 
ney was  to  see  in  a  few  days  Signer  Tonnelli, 
103 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

the  famous  impresario,  on  Eleanor's  behalf.  If 
he  were  successful  —  and  De  Volney  tolerated 
no  doubt  of  it  —  Eleanor's  immediate  work 
would  keep  her  entirely  occupied ;  it  might 
probably  take  her  away  from  Paris.  Madame 
Pointer  on  her  side  was  to  induce  Bruce  Con- 
verse by  the  offer  of  attractive  commissions  to 
undertake  work  that  would  keep  him  away  from 
the  studio  and  the  dangerous  proximity  of 
Eleanor. 

"  They  must  not  be  allowed  to  fall  in  love," 
she  asserted  very  earnestly  when  she  had  out- 
lined the  plot  to  me.  "  We  must  prevent  them. 
It  is  our  duty  as  their  friends.  We  are  count- 
ing upon  your  aid,  for  you  can  help  us  a  great 
deal." 

May  I  be  forgiven  for  offering  the  cold  con- 
clusions of  a  student  of  books,  at  a  time  when 
Madame  Pointer's  warm  heart  sought  practical 
assistance,  but  the  opportunity  of  discoursing 
on  the  philosophy  of  love  with  this  beautiful 
lady  was  a  temptation  I  could  not  resist. 
104 


A  FAIR  PLOTTER 

It  is  a  dangerous  playground  for  conversa- 
tion, this  theme  of  love,  yet  men  and  women 
eagerly  enter  upon  it,  scorning  the  signs  of 
warning  that  Experience  has  posted  at  its 
boundaries.  Lightly  they  tread  together  its 
mazes,  now  pursuing,  now  evading  each  other, 
now  laughing  while  yet  the  game  is  only  one  of 
"  Come  and  find  me,"  now  standing  still  with 
tear-filled  eyes  when  one  at  last  is  caught  and 
the  other,  with  object  attained,  finds  the  zest 
gone  from  the  sport ;  now  suddenly  facing  each 
other,  serious  eyes  looking  into  serious  eyes  and 
reading  there  the  realization  that  what  had  be- 
gun as  a  pleasant  pastime  to  while  away  an 
hour,  or  a  day,  has  become  an  occupation  to 
last  a  whole  life  long. 

Yes,  it  is  a  dangerous  playground,  but 
imagine  the  soft  alluring  languor  of  early 
summer  in  the  air;  the  breeze  caressing 
amorously  the  rose-trees  and  bringing  the 
perfume  to  our  senses ;  picture  the  sylvan 
scene  and  this  lady  as  dainty  as  any  of  the 
105 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

noble    shepherdesses    Boucher    used    to    paint. 

"  Madame  Pointer,"  I  began,  "  you  have  not 
honored  me  by  requesting  my  advice;  you  ask 
from  me  a  different  form  of  service,  and  that  is 
sufficient  honor  for  me.  Surely  I  could  dis- 
courage no  project  that  you  and  Bertrand  de 
Volney  were  joined  in  promoting,  but — "  I 
halted  lamely,  seeking  an  excuse  for  the  dis- 
course I  was  about  to  pronounce,  but  finding 
none  that  seemed  adequate,  I  waited  for  her 
own  imagination  to  supply  what  I  might  have 
said. 

"  The  sentiment  of  love,"  I  went  on,  attack- 
ing the  subject  without  further  apology,  "  the 
sentiment  of  love,  as  an  inspiration  of  human 
activity,  has  occupied  the  attention  of  philoso- 
phers from  the  time  of  Socrates  and  Plato 
down  to  the  most  modern  of  moderns.  iAris- 
totle,  in  his  famous  Table  of  Categories, 
classed  passion  as  sixth  among  the  ten  conti- 
nents of  human  thought;  but,  believe  me,  in 
106 


A  FAIR  PLOTTER 

assigning  to  it  such  an  inferior  place  he  was 
hardly  less  in  error  than  in  his  absurd  concep- 
tion that  the  universe  was  a  hollow  globe  to 
which  the  stars  were  pinned  fast  and  that  the 
whole  revolved  about  the  motionless  earth.  To 
the  ancients,  love  was  the  aspiration  of  the  soul 
for  the  beautiful.  In  some  such  fashion,  was 
it  treated  by  Plato,  Plutarch  and  Petrarch. 
The  wise  Marcus  Aurelius,  though  he  was  him- 
self deceived,  preached  of  love's  efficiency,  and 
another,  whose  Christian  meditations  centuries 
later  remind  one  strangely  of  Rome's  good  em- 
peror, said  in  his  Imitation:  l  A  strong  lover 
standeth  in  temptations  nor  will  he  believe  in 
the  wily  persuasions  of  the  enemy.' ' 

I  paused  that  she  might  have  time  to  apply 
this  sentiment  to  the  particular  case  of  Bruce 
Converse.  She  acknowledged  her  understand- 
ing of  the  point  by  a  smiling  nod  of  the  head, 
but  waited  to  hear  what  I  would  say  further. 

"  Pascal,  the  learned  and  virtuous,  who  de- 
107 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

voted  an  imperishable  pensee  to  Cleopatra's 
nose,"  I  continued,  "  confessed  with  Corneille 
that  '  the  cause  of  love  is  I  know  not  what  and 
the  effects  are  dreadful.'  Thus,  Madame,  it  has 
been  with  those  who  founded  their  philosophies 
on  the  testimony  of  the  senses,  after  the  manner 
of  the  ancients.  Though  their  great  intellects 
have  essayed  the  analysis  of  love,  its  causes 
and  its  effects,  alike,  have  been  beyond  their 
wisdom." 

"  But  these  sentiments,"  cried  Madame 
Pointer  suddenly,  her  glance  fixed  upon  me  with 
disconcerting  amusement  — "  these  sentiments 
are  but  the  dry  philosophy  of  the  ancients. 
Fie,  Prince  de  Saint  Sauveur,  you  are  not  go- 
ing to  class  yourself  among  them!  I  shall  not 
permit  it." 

I  had  not  looked  for  attack  from  this  quar- 
ter. For  a  moment  I  was  nonplused  and  must 
clearly  have  shown  it.  No,  surely,  I  had  no 
intention  of  classing  myself  with  the  ancients. 
Admire  their  teachings  I  might,  but  I  was  not 
108 


A  FAIR  PLOTTER 

willing  to  be  of  them,  least  of  all  at  that 
moment !  I  had  had  my  theme  well  in  hand, 
but  at  a  simple  word  from  her  its  thread  had 
fallen  from  my  grasp.  I  was  groping  for  it 
while  she  was  laughing  at  me.  With  one 
gesture  I  swept  all  the  ancients  to  perdition, 
but  sternly  held  to  my  text. 

"  Oh,  your  moderns,  most  modern  lady,"  I 
protested,  "  are  just  as  serious  when  discussing 
this  fruitful  subject  of  love;  more  serious,  in 
fact.  These  later  philosophers,  who  received 
their  original  inspiration  from  Descartes,  have 
reached  widely  differing  conclusions. 

"  We  may  read  with  repulsion  Nietzsche, 
who  gave  scarcely  a  thought  to  passion,  except 
as  the  desire  of  possession,  but  who  studied  as 
minutely  as  a  microscopist  this  aspect  of  the 
eternal  attraction  of  the  two  sexes.  With  him 
the  inspiration  is  the  instinct,  the  craving  to 
possess.  With  what  relief  we  turn  from  this 
cruel  dissection  to  the  exquisite  book  Michelet 
wrote  half  a  century  ago  when  France  etait 
109 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

malade,  and  which  is  to-day  as  fresh  and  beau- 
tiful and  true  as  it  was  then.  '  Love,'  he  says, 
'  is  not  a  crisis,  a  drama  in  a  single  act.  It 
is  a  succession,  often  long,  of  widely  differing 
passions  which  nourish  life  and  renew  it.' 
Stendhal,  before  him,  had  divided  love  into 
four  phases,  each  with  its  subdivisions.  He  de- 
fined love  as  a  crystallization  which  our  own 
learned  Monsieur  Faguet,  who  is  a  member  of 
that  academy  to  which  my  father  added  luster, 
maintains  is  but  a  manifestation  of  the  curiosity 
which  attracts  sex  to  sex.  Yes,  he  would  have 
us  believe  that  man  seeks  the  woman  or  woman 
seeks  the  man  because  imagination  whets  the 
curiosity  to  discover  in  the  soul  of  one  that 
which  is  in  harmony  with  or  opposed  to  quali- 
ties in  the  soul  of  the  other.  It  is  not  so  much, 
he  holds,  the  desire  to  possess  as  the  desire  to 
know.  With  Schopenhauer,  love  is  the  genius 
of  the  race,  the  inborn  impulse  of  procreation. 
Your  own  Emerson,  who  wrote  of  passion  with 
such  pure  spirituality,  treated  love  as  a  divine 
110 


A  FAIR  PLOTTER 

madness  in  the  blood  of  youth.  Alas,  that  the 
gentle  sage  should  limit  the  priceless  possession 
to  those  who  are  under  thirty !  " 

"  No  one  who  is  more  than  thirty  will  agree 
with  him,"  Madame  Pointer  interposed  with  a 
laugh. 

"  No ;  I  for  one  am  quite  sure  the  philosopher 
who  was  so  wise  in  other  lore  was  there  in  er- 
ror," I  replied,  "  but  thus  you  may  see  the 
phenomenon  of  love  has  been  studied  by  the 
great  men  of  all  ages,  who  have  endeavored  to 
discover  the  secret  by  regarding  it  spiritually, 
or  physiologically,  or  even  pathologically. 
But  neither  ancient  nor  modern,  Madame 
Pointer,  has  been  able  to  define  love  so  that 
those  who  will  may  regulate  its  cause  or  its 
effect.  It  comes  we  do  not  know  how  or  why, 
nor  can  we  prescribe  to  whom  it  shall  come  or 
when.  It  is,  I  think  —  if  I  may  venture  my 
own  poor  opinion  in  the  company  of  such  dis- 
tinguished men  as  I  have  cited  —  love  is,  I 
think,  a  natural  law  the  manifestations  of  which 
111 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

are  too  manifold,  and  its  operations  too  delicate, 
for  our  finite  minds  to  compass.  Those  who 
obey  it  obey  not  because  they  would  but  be- 
cause they  must.  For  those  to  whom  it  comes, 
it  is  not  a  part  of  life ;  it  is  life  itself.  They 
are  no  longer  of  the  world;  the  world  is  of 
them.  True  love  does  not  stop  to  consider  or 
falter  when  opposed.  In  the  eyes  of  lovers, 
love  alone  exists ;  no  other  sentiment,  no  other 
attribute,  no  other  possession  is  allowed  the 
privilege  of  comparison.  Between  all  other 
things  and  it  there  is  the  difference  that  lies  be- 
tween the  earthly  and  the  divine.  Love  con- 
verts the  clod  into  life.  It  makes  giants  of 
the  meanest  of  men ;  it  gives  beauty  to  the  least 
favored  of  women.  And  this  natural  law,  that 
flows  through  the  universe  like  a  subtle  warm- 
ing fluid  which  our  unillumined  eyes  may  not 
behold,  takes  contact  when  and  where  and  with 
whom  it  will,  joining  two  together  so  that  they 
make  one  —  one  in  body,  one  in  mind,  one  in 
spirit.  Those  two  so  joined  may  be  so  close 


A  FAIR  PLOTTER 

that  hand  can  rest  in  hand  and  lip  touch  lip,  or 
a  whole  world  may  lie  between  them  and  still 
they  will  be  indivisibly  one;  neither  time  nor 
space  can  separate  them. 

"  Though  the  sight  of  lovers  is  so  common 
that,  try  as  they  may,  they  can  not  disguise 
themselves  from  the  most  innocent  of  eyes,  they 
escape  from  us  if  we  would  hold  them  or  di- 
rect them.  One  whom  the  passion  has  touched 
may  seek  his  mate,  and  as  a  graceful  poet  of 
the  English  has  said,  '  look  all  ways  to  find  her,' 
but  we  can  not  lead  him  to  where  she  stands 
waiting.  Or,  finding  two  together,  he  may  not 
even  see  the  one  we  would  have  pointed  out,  but 
will  take  the  one  beside  her.  We  may  say  in 
all  good  faith  to  the  prince :  '  Here  is  your 
princess,'  and  stand  in  uncomprehending  won- 
der while  he,  with  radiant  countenance,  chooses 
the  peasant  we  have  ignored.  And  Youth, 
despite  your  gentle  philosopher,  may  look  into 
the  eyes  of  Age  and  find  there  only  Youth  and 
Beauty.  Like  may  attract  like  or,  as  Schopen- 
113 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

hauer  admirably  reasons,  opposite  attract  op- 
posite. There  is  no  rule.  The  sum  of 
human  experience  is,  as  Pascal  has  said:  4  We 
do  not  know.' 

"  And  yet,  Madame  Pointer,  this  Law  of 
Love  is  one  we  may  not  break.  We  can  not 
successfully  oppose  it.  We  can  not  govern  it, 
if  it  be  true  love.  We  can  not  control  it  in 
our  own  beings ;  how  much  less  then  can  we  ex- 
pect to  control  it  in  the  lives  of  others  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me,  her  expressive  intelligent 
eyes  moist  with  sympathy.  Poor  lady!  She 
had  heard  me  through  my  discourse  with  admir- 
able patience,  even  with  a  close  interest 
which  I  hope  was  not  entirely  feigned. 

"  It  was  not  our  intention  to  force  them 
against  their  will,"  she  protested.  "  We  would 
not,  I  hope,  be  so  unwise,  and  certainly  we 
could  not  be  so  heartless,  as  to  clo  that.  But 
we  do  wish,  if  it  be  possible,  to  remove  the 
temptation  from  them,  or  to  remove  them  from 
temptation.  They  should  not  be  allowed  just 
114 


now  to  mar  their  future  by  an  unwise  attach- 
ment. Oh,  no,  really  they  should  not.  We 
wish  to  keep  them  apart  for  the  present.  There 
can  be  no  harm  in  that.  If  their  love  be  really 
worthy,  it  will  not  be  destroyed  by  a  short 
separation.  And  we  counted  on  your  help. 
You  are  such  a  friend  of  Miss  Moore ;  she  ad- 
mires you  so  sincerely  and  places  such  reliance 
on  your  counsel.  We  wanted  you  to  be  much 
with  her  at  this  time  that  may  be  so  critical  to 
her.  Something  must  be  done.  The  Vicomte 
de  Volney  had  counted  upon  you  so  implicitly. 
He  will  be  so  disappointed  if  you  will  not  lend 
your  aid.  Oh,  we  must  have  your  help,  Prince 
Flo—" 

She  checked  herself  abruptly  and  a  wave  of 
crimson  surged  upward  over  her  face.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  she  said.  "  I  had  nearly  called 
you  Prince  Florimond.  So  many  of  your 
friends  speak  of  you  in  that  way  instead  of  by 
your  family  name.  And  then  the  Vicomte  de 
Volney,  of  course,  calls  you  always  by  your 
115 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

first  name.     It  came  quite  unconsciously  to  my 
lips." 

It  was  true.  I  knew  that  few  of  my  friends 
ever  employed  my  surname.  "  J  beg  of  you, 
my  dear  lady,"  I  replied,  "  do  not  apologize. 
Instead,  grant  me  the  delight  of  knowing  you 
are  among  those  who  thus  testify  their  approv- 
ing friendship  for  me." 

Madame  Pointer  looked  at  me  with  a  pleased 
smile.  "  Will  you  have  one  lump,  or  two, 
Prince  —  Florimond?  "  she  asked. 

Upon  my  word  she  said  it  so  prettily  that  I 
forgot  entirely  my  aversion  to  tea  and  stam- 
mered, "  Two,  please,"  before  I  thought, 
and  then  I  was  forced  to  drink  that  con- 
coction which  was  bitter-sweet,  like  the  medi- 
cine of  childhood. 

As  I  was  trying  to  make  the  best  of  it,  a 
servant  approached  and  presented  to  Madame 
Pointer  a  card  which  she  read  with  a  little  ex- 
clamation that  was,  I  thought,  not  unmixed 
with  pleasure. 

116 


A  FAIR  PLOTTER 

"  Invite  the  gentleman  to  come  here,"  she 
said  to  the  servant,  and  then,  turning  to  me: 
"  It  is  the  Due  de  Mirabelle.  Surely  you  must 
know  him." 

The  Due  de  Mirabelle!  I  despised  the  fel- 
low. He  was  one  of  those  upstart  Frenchmen 
whose  titles  have  grown  and  flourished  under 
the  republic,  and  who  are  to  be  encountered 
rarely  in  the  salons  of  the  French  but  who  for- 
ever frequent  the  company  of  Americans  of 
wealth.  I  abhor  the  type. 

"  Mirabelle,  Madame,"  I  answered  rather 
scornfully,  playing  on  the  word  in  French,  "  is 
one  of  our  commonest  fruits,  but  I  have  never 
heard  the  name  applied  to  a  flower  of  France." 

She  laughed  uneasily  and  rose  as  Mirabelle 
came  walking  across  the  lawn  to  us  with  easy 
assurance,  an  overdressed  foppish  dandy  with 
curled  mustaches  and  wearing  a  monocle.  I 
bowed  to  him  coldly  and  soon  after  took  my 
leave,  for  as  I  listened  to  him  conversing 
familiarly  with  Madame  Pointer,  moving  her 
117 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IX 

at  times  to  laughter  with  his  shallow  wit,  it 
would  have  been  beyond  my  powers  long  to  have 
been  civil  to  him. 

That  night  I  felt  myself  in  evil  mood,  fool- 
ishly irritated  by  the  untimely  visit  of  that 
Mirabelle.  So  I  read  until  late  in  the  M  or  alia 
of  Plutarch,  and  probably  because  I  had  re- 
ferred to  it  in  talking  to  Madame  Pointer,  I 
turned  again  to  his  comforting  essay  on  Amity. 
Into  my  mind  came  the  recollection  of  the  plot 
that  had  been  formed  and  in  which  I  had  been 
asked  to  assist.  Though  my  sober  sense  per- 
suaded me  it  was  folly,  I  found  pleasure  in  be- 
ing associated  in  a  plot  with  so  fair  a  plotter, 
and  I  fell  asleep  remembering  how  charmingly 
she  had  said :  "  Prince  Florimond." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    WISE    SIGNOR    TONXEI/LI    IS    TAKEN    BY    SUR- 
PRISE 

44T71  L-EA-NOR!" 

J A         It  was  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Crackenby 

calling  up  the  stairway.  It  would  seem  that 
the  good  lady  often  called  thus,  for  she  con- 
fessed complainingly  to  me  as  I  stood  by  her 
side  that  the  Russian  author  was  at  such  times 
wont  to  poke  his  shaggy  head  out  of  his  door 
with  a  querulous  "  Madame!  Je  vous  en 
prie! "  and  a  bearded  Frenchman  who  wrote 
comic  plays  and  lived  opposite  on  the  same 
floor  would  open  his  door  and  shout  "  Oh,  yes !  " 
until  Aunt  Ella  would  retire  exclaiming  sar- 
castically :  "  They  talk  of  the  politeness  of 
the  French!" 

"  El-ea-nor !  "     She   could   call   undisturbed 
this   afternoon,   for  neither   the  Russian,  nor 
119 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

the  Frenchman,  was  at  home  to  hear  her  and 
protest.  I  had  come  to  call  upon  Miss  Moore, 
and  now  waited  while  Mrs.  Crackenby  tried  to 
make  herself  heard  by  her  niece,  who  was  in 
Mr.  Converse's  studio. 

"  Pray  do  not  further  derange  yourself,"  I 
requested,  observing  that  her  vocal  efforts  were 
unavailing.  "  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of 
ascending  to  the  studio  that  I  may  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  them  both." 

"  She  should  be  working,"  Mrs.  Crackenby 
complained.  "  I  tell  her  she  wastes  lots  of 
time  sitting  for  her  picture  thai:  never  seems 
to  get  finished,  but  she  only  laughs  at  me." 
Mounting  the  stairs,  I  heard  the  good  lady  still 
complaining  as  she  reentered  her  apartment. 

Eleanor  herself  came  to  the  door  in  response 
to  my  ring.  Both  she  and  Mr.  Converse  wel- 
comed me  cordially.  Converse  seemed  really  re- 
lieved that  I  had  come  to  interrupt  him  in  his 
work,  and  looking  upon  the  portrait  of  Eleanor 
120 


TAKEN  BY  SURPRISE 

before  which  he  sat,  I  saw  that  it  had  progressed 
badly,  for  the  face  had  been  entirely  painted 
out  and  he  was  about  to  begin  again.  Oh, 
fortunate  metier  of  the  artist  that  permits  one 
with  a  stroke  of  the  brush  to  obliterate  faults 
and  start  anew!  We  talked  about  his  work, 
Mr.  Converse  frankly  admitting  his  failure  and 
consequent  discontent. 

"  I  can't  make  it  go  to  suit  me,"  he  confessed 
gloomily.  "  I've  tried  as  hard  as  I  know  how, 
but  it's  simply  a  botch." 

"  Really,  I  think  it's  my  fault.  I'm  such  a 
poor  model,"  Eleanor  put  in.  "  I  always  want 
to  talk,  and  I  am  so  constantly  getting  out  of 
the  pose  that  Bruce  stops  in  sheer  disgust." 

Converse  shook  his  head  and  smiled  at  her 
attempt  to  take  upon  herself  the  blame  for 
his  failure.  "It  isn't  that,"  he  said.  "I'd 
like  to  persuade  myself  that  what  you  say  is 
true,  but,  unfortunately  for  me,  I  know  it 
isn't." 

121 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

No  compunctions  of  conscience  disquieted  me 
when  I  urged  them  to  go  with  me  for  an  auto- 
mobile run  into  the  country.  Eleanor  would 
not  go,  as  she  wished  to  practise,  and  I  truly 
think  she  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  re- 
turn to  her  work,  but  Converse  accompanied 
me  and  purposely  I  had  the  man  drive  us  to 
Fontainebleau  and  Barbizon,  and  we  made  ex- 
cursions along  little  roads  leading  off  the  routes 
nationales,  past  bits  of  country  reminiscent  of 
the  pictures  of  Millet,  Rousseau  and  others  of 
that  famous  company  who  had  painted  in  the 
surrounding  woods  and  fields.  Converse's  de- 
pression vanished. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  exclaimed  enthusiastically, 
"  it's  enough  to  make  a  fellow  wish  to  jump 
right  out  of  the  automobile  and  begin  paint- 
ing!" 

I  assented.  "  Nature  just  now  is  in  that 
stage  that  most  baffles  you  painters,  the  stage 
between  spring  and  summer.  The  sunshine 
gives  to  the  trees  and  grass  a  feeling  of  youth 


TAKEN  BY  SURPRISE 

and  vigor,  but  all  around  are  the  subtle  in- 
dications that  the  year  is  arriving  at  maturity. 
Were  I  an  artist,  it  is  now  that  I  should  most 
wish  to  employ  the  resources  of  my  art  to 
seizing  that  which  is  so  difficult  to  express  on 
canvas." 

We  talked  not  at  all  of  portraiture.  He 
was  eager  to  be  at  work  out  of  doors ;  the 
studio  had  too  long  claimed  him.  He  would 
return  to  these  scenes  the  very  next  day,  he 
said,  and  begin  to  paint  in  earnest.  Willingly, 
I  placed  at  his  disposal  my  automobile  to  con- 
vey him  to  Fontainebleau  when  he  wished.  We 
returned  to  the  city  rather  late  and  he 
dined  with  me  at  my  home,  still  talking  enthu- 
siastically of  the  work  he  intended  to  accom- 
plish. 

De  Volney  is  right.  We  are  often  little 
stones  on  the  mountainside  waiting  for  some 
hand  to  release  us  and  start  us  rolling,  but, 
mind  you,  we  must,  at  least,  have  the  ability 
to  roll.  Bruce  Converse  did  what  he  said  he 


would  do:  he  began  the  painting  of  landscapes 
and  Eleanor's  portrait  was  pushed  into  a  cor- 
ner with  its  painted-out  face  turned  toward  the 
wall. 

It  was  De  Volney's  hand  that  next  started  a 
stone  rolling  on  the  mountainside.  He  had 
been  awaiting  the  arrival  in  Paris  of  Signor 
Tonnelli,  and  no  sooner  had  the  great  little  man 
appeared  than  Bertrand  arranged  that  he 
should  hear  Eleanor  sing.  As  Bertrand  and  I 
went  together  to  inform  Eleanor,  I  stopped  as 
we  passed  through  the  old  Rue  des  Saints 
Peres,  where  I  love  to  linger,  and  made  the  pur- 
chase of  an  antique  fan  of  rare  beauty  as  a 
slight  offering  to  Eleanor,  prompted,  I  dare 
say,  in  measure,  by  my  unquiet  conscience, 
which  would  never  relish  this  little  plot  of  ours. 
She  was  delighted  with  the  small  gift  and  grate- 
ful beyond  expression  for  the  opportunity  of 
being  heard  by  the  famous  Signor  Tonnelli, 
and  after  she  had  tried  to  thank  us  she  ran  up 
the  stairs  to  acquaint  Bruce  Converse  with  the 


TAKEN  BY  SURPRISE 

good  news.  She  returned  crestfallen.  He 
was  not  there. 

"  He  is  never  in  the  studio  any  more,"  she 
explained,  while  De  Volney  and  I  looked  straight 
ahead  of  us. 

The  meeting  with  Signor  Tonnelli  was  to  be 
at  ten  o'clock,  precisely,  the  next  morning,  and 
both  De  Volney  and  I  were  there  upon  the  hour, 
but  Eleanor  had  not  yet  come.  Tonnelli  was 
a  round  little  man  with  a  white  face  and  gray 
close-cropped  beard  nearly  white,  and  with 
dark  sharp  eyes  that  flashed  even  when  he  was 
not  speaking.  His  conversation  was  a  series 
of  small  explosions.  He  spoke  many  languages, 
all  except  his  own,  badly. 

"Your  Mees  —  ah,  what  is  it,  her  name?  — 
your  Mees  Moore,  your  wonderful  Mees  Moore, 
is  late,  eh?  "  he  said  to  Bertrand.  "  Do  not  be 
surprise,  for  I  am  not.  It  show  she  is  already 
a  true  prima  donna,  eh?"  He  smiled  ironic- 
ally. 

Eleanor  came  in  soon  after,  and  I  observed 
125 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

that  Tonnelli  became  at  once  gruffer  and 
seemed  ready  to  storm.  She  apologized  very 
sweetly  as  she  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  Yes,  you  are  late,"  he  blurted  out.  "  You 
have  made  me  to  wait  feef teen  minute  —  but 
then  my  time  it  is  a  nothing  to  me,  eh?  Oh,  I 
have  so  mucha  time  I  do  not  know  what  to  do 
with  him.  I  have  only  about  feefty  more 
younga  lady  to  hear  sing  while  I  am  in  Paris  — 
feefty  more  younga  lady  with  the  beautiful 
voice  to  wait  for,  and  to-morrow  I  go  away  to 
London." 

It  was  a  bad  beginning,  and  matters  were 
not  much  helped  when  Eleanor  said  to  him,  "  I 
am  very  sorry." 

"  Bah !  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  was  the 
nearest  he  would  come  to  accepting  her  apology. 
"What  you  bring  to  sing?" 

"  Manon."  It  was  with  pleasure  that  I  per- 
ceived she  had  with  her  the  fan  I  had  pre- 
sented. 

"Yes,"  grunted  Tonnelli.  "They  all  wish 
126 


TAKEN  BY  SURPRISE 

to  sing  Manon  and  they  all  bringa  the  fan." 
He  might  have  been  speaking  of  an  army  of 
drilled  Amazons,  and  I  should  not  have  re- 
frained from  giving  the  little  man  a  lesson  in 
politeness,  great  impresario  or  not,  if  De  Vol- 
ney  had  not  intervened. 

"  My  friend,  Signor  Tonnelli,  is  an  old  bear, 
Miss  Moore,"  he  said  dryly,  "  but  he  has  no 
claws,  and  he  is  much  too  tame  and  too  gentle 
to  bite.  I  beg  you  not  to  be  alarmed  if  he 
growls,  for  he  takes  a  great  pleasure  in  growl- 
ing." 

Tonnelli  laughed  in  spite  of  himself,  and 
Eleanor  laughed,  too,  though  not  very  nat- 
urally, and  I  could  not  laugh  at  all.  I 
did  not  get  into  a  good  humor  with  that  little 
man  again  until  Eleanor  was  singing,  "  Je 
marche  sur  tons  les  chemins,"  and  then  I  saw 
that  his  eyes  were  no  longer  full  of  spiteful  fire, 
and  the  smile  of  irony  under  his  white  mus- 
taches was  gone,  and  he  was  looking  upon 
Eleanor  as  if  he  had  never  spoken  gruffly  in  his 
127 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

life  and  would  be  willing  to  wait  any  number  of 
minutes  she  chose,  if  only  she  would  sing  to 
him. 

"  Bravo ! "  encouraged  De  Volney  when  the 
air  was  finished  and  Eleanor  had  sung  it  in  the 
key  it  is  written  in  Massenet's  original  score. 

"  H'mph !  It  is  not  bad,"  was  Signer  Ton- 
nelli's  only  comment,  but  he  got  up  from  his 
chair  at  the  end  of  the  big  room,  and  coming 
up  to  the  piano,  quickly  dug  out  from  a  mass 
of  music  the  score  of  an  opera. 

"  There,  sing  that,"  he  said,  thrusting  the 
open  book  into  Eleanor's  hands. 

"Oh,  do  you  love  that?  So  do  I,"  she  ex- 
claimed. I  was  standing  by  her  side,  having 
just  added  my  congratulations  to  those  of  the 
others.  The  opera  Tonnelli  had  chosen  was 
Les  Contes  d'Hoffman,  and  the  book  was 
open  at  Antonia's  song:  "  C'est  une  chanson 
d'amour" 

"  Love  it !  I  did  not  say  I  love  it.  I  wish 
to  hear  you  sing  it." 

128 


TAKEN  BY  SURPRISE 

"  But  I  have  never  studied  it." 

"  You  have  sung  it,  though." 

"  Yes,  but  for  myself.  I  have  never  been 
taught  how  it  should  be  sung." 

"  That  is  what  I  want.  I  want  to  hear  you 
sing  something  just  as  you  want  to  sing  it  for 
yourself,  not  as  that  Professor  Karylli  has 
taught  you  to  sing  it." 

"  You  know  Professor  Karylli  is  my; 
teacher?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Who  told  you  ?  "  There  was  astonishment 
on  Eleanor's  face,  but  it  disappeared  as  she 
glanced  toward  Bertrand.  "  Oh,  it  was  the  Vi- 
comte  de  Volney,  of  course." 

Tonnelli  gave  a  little  explosion.  "  No, 
younga  lady,  it  was  not  the  Vicomte  de  Vol- 
ney; it  was  just  your  voice.  Sacre — "  He 
would  have  said  more,  but  he  checked  himself. 
"  Sing  it,"  he  commanded  with  an  abrupt 
gesture  as  he  went  back  to  his  seat. 

.You  know  that  wonderful  song  of  Antonia. 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Once  it  rang  through  Paris,  but  that  was  when 
'I  was  a  very  young  man,  and  now  it  is  the 
barcarole  that  one  always  hears.  Oh,  that  song 
of  Antonia  as  Eleanor  sang  it  for  us  then ! 

C'est  une  chanson  d'amour 

Qui  s'envole, 

Triste  cm  folle, 

Tour  a  tour; 
C'est  une  chanson  d'amour. 

Signor  Tonnelli  listened  with  his  eyes  closed, 
but  his  head  nodded  from  time  to  time  and  a 
smile  was  upon  his  face  very  different  from  the 
smile  that  had  angered  me.  I  was  foolish  to 
have  been  so  provoked;  this  round  little  man 
had  his  mind  fixed  on  other  things  than  polite- 
ness or  pretty  speeches.  What  were  conven- 
tional forms  to  him?  He  wished  to  break 
through  the  surface  and  discover  what  lay  hid- 
den beneath.  He  seemed  to  me  to  be  quite  a 
fine  old  man  as  I  looked  at  him  there,  with  his 
eyes  closed  and  his  head  nodding.  When 
Eleanor  finished  the  song  with  a  gasp,  as  it  is 
130 


TAKEN  BY  SURPRISE 

done  upon  the  scene,  a  surprising  transforma- 
tion was  wrought  in  Signer  Tonnelli.  He 
leaped  from  his  chair,  and  in  a  voice  remarka- 
bly clear  and  true  carried  on  Hoffmann's  part 
of  the  duet: 

"  Qu'as  tu  done?  " 

but  no  sooner  had  he  done  so  than  he  appeared 
to  regret  it  and  stood  looking  at  us  all  sheep- 
ishly. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  anything  more,"  he 
announced,  his  attitude  changing  again  into 
gruffness ;  but  alas,  now,  for  the  make-believe  of 
this  little  man  who  was  really  gentle-hearted  and 
mild,  he  could  not  continue  with  the  pretense. 
"  Younga  lady,"  he  confessed,  "  I  will  not  say 
I  wish  not  to  hear  any  more,  for  that  would 
not  be  true.  I  would  wish  to  hear  all  you 
would  sing  to  me,  but  it  must  not  be  for  to- 
day. Ah,  I  shall  wish  all  that  for  another 
time."  His  small  black  eyes  were  glistening 
and  he  held  out  his  hand.  "  I  thank  you ;  Ton- 
131 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

nelli  thanks  you,  but — "     He  would  not  go  on. 

"  Please  say  what  you  were  going  to  say, 
Signor  Tonnelli,"  Eleanor  pleaded. 

**  Sapristi!  I  meant  that  for  another  time, 
but,  yes,  ,1  shall  say  it  now.  Do  you  wish  to 
be  a  prima  donna?  Do  you  wish  to  sing?  You 
are  not  just  a  trifler  like  so  many  younga  lady? 
You  do  not  wait  just  for  some  rich  man  to  fall 
in  love  with  you,  eh?  And  then  it  will  all  go 
likea  that  —  pouf!  No,  Mademoiselle,  I  will 
not  believe  that.  You  wish  to  sing,  is  it  not? 
You  wish  to  sing  not  just  for  you,  or  just  for 
me,  or  just  for  a  man  who  say  he  love  you,  but 
for  the  whole  world.  Don't  you  or  do  you?" 

"  I  think  I  know  what  you  mean.  I  wish  to 
sing." 

"  Yes,  yes,  for  every  one,  for  the  whole 
world." 

"  Yes,  for  every  one  who  will  hear  me,  and 
for  the  love  of  singing." 

"  Good !  I  knew  it  was  true.  One  has  only 
to  look  at  you  to  know  what  you  say  is  true. 


TAKEN  BY  SURPRISE 

Then,  listen.  You  will  go  with  me  away  to 
Spain ;  you  will  give  up  the  study  with  Karylli ; 
you  will  study  with  a  teacher  who  is  better 
than  Karylli,  whom  I  will  get  for  you;  you  will 
study  six  month',  perhaps  it  is  a  year.  I  will 
give  you  a  contract.  I  will  pay  you  while  you 
study.  Then  you  will  come  back  here  and  I 
will  have  you  sing  in  Paris.  Will  you  do  it?  " 

"Give  up  study  with  Professor  Karylli?" 
'Eleanor  echoed.  It  was  unbelievable  —  Ka- 
rylli who  was  known  as  the  greatest  of  masters ! 

"  Karylli !  "  thundered  Signor  Tonnelli,  who 
was  very  much  excited.  "  Karylli !  He  is  the 
worst  teacher  you  could  have!  He  is  a 
magician,  yes ;  he  is  a  terribly  wise  wizard  who 
knows  more  about  the  human  voice  than  even 
I  do,  younga  lady ;  but  he  is  a  bad  man  and  he 
does  not  know  how  to  train  a  pure  voice  like 
yours.  When  you  sing  I  know  who  put  those 
bad  qualities  into  your  voice.  I  do  not  have 
to  be  told  who  it  is.  I  know.  He  is  a  bad 
man,  and  he  can  make  the  voice  of  a  woman 
133 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

like  you,  yes,  even  like  you,  he  can  make  the 
voice  seem  just  like  an  obscene  song.  There 
might  be  some  —  yes,  do  I  not  know? — there 
would  be  a  great  many  who  would  clap  their 
hands  and  shout,  if  they  heard  you  sing  as 
Karylli  would  have  you  sing.  They  would  be 
like  those  poor  people  who  laugh  when  they 
see  the  painted  women  walk  along  the  boulevard. 
But  no,  that  is  not  real  success.  It  is  not  for 
you.  There  is  something  higher  than  that;  it 
is  way  up  beyond  it;  and  Karylli,  he  can  not 
go  there.  He  is  like  your  Mephistopheles  when 
he  sees  the  cross.  You  must  give  him  up,  you 
hear?  You  must  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
him.  You  must  trust  in  me.  If  you  sign  the 
contract  I  will  make  you  such  a  singer  as  the 
world  is  waiting  for.  Do  I  not  know?  Do  I 
not  know  the  great  public?  Yes,  and  I  know, 
though  it  laugh  at  what  is  bad,  it  is  always 
waiting  for  what  is  best." 

He  was  in  quite  a  fever  of  excitement.     Un- 
der   his    gray    beard    his    cheeks    burned,    his 
134 


TAKEN  BY  SURPRISE 

breath  came  fast,  his  small  fat  hands  flew  about 
like  pigeons  not  knowing  where  to  alight.  Very 
small  indeed  were  his  eyes,  but  the  fire  seemed 
to  leap  from  them  and  send  sparks  into  the  air. 
Eleanor  looked  straight  at  him,  quite  overcome 
by  his  ardor.  We  were  all  so  astonished  we 
did  not  think  of  speaking.  Suddenly  he 
stopped.  We  none  of  us  knew  quite  what  to 
expect. 

"  There,  there,"  he  growled,  as  if  half  angry 
with  himself  for  having  been  so  wrought  to  fer- 
vor, "  there,  there,  I  have  said  all  those 
thing  I  did  not  mean  to  say  to-day.  When  you 
sang  Manon  for  me,  I  knew  who  put  those  bad 
woman  tricks  into  your  voice  and  I  could  have 
cried,  I  was  so  angry  and  so  sorry.  But  I 
thought  I  will  tell  you  about  it  some  other  time 
when  you  got  to  know  me  better,  and  so  I  ask 
you  to  sing  that  '  chanson  d 'amour  '  and  then  I 
just  could  not  help  it.  I  had  to  tell  you. 
Now  you  must  go.  I  want  you  to  think  about 
what  I  have  said,  alone,  and  you  will  see  I  am 
135 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

right.  Then  you  come  to  me.  We  will  be 
friends.  Good-by." 

He  was  actually  pushing  all  three  of  us  to 
the  door.  Even  De  Yolney  let  himself  be  hur- 
ried out  in  that  fashion,  and  Signor  Tonnelli 
apparently  forgot  he  was  there,  until  he  saw 
him  standing  in  the  hallway. 

"  Ah,  my  good  friend,"  he  apologized,  "  I 
thank  you  so  verra  much." 

He  gave  his  hand  to  Eleanor,  smiling  a  little 
as  he  had  done  when  we  had  first  seen  him. 
"  Promise  me  one  thing,  younga  lady,"  he  said 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "  Promise  me  when 
you  are  a  great  prima  donna  you  will  not  be 
too  —  cranky !  " 

Then  he  closed  the  door  without  even  so 
much  as  a  glance  at  me.  I  think  he  did  not 
remember  I  had  been  there  at  all. 


CHAPTER  X 

EVEN   WHEN    MASTER    HANDS   WORK    THE    STRINGS, 

PUPPETS    WILL    NOT   ALWAYS    DO    WHAT    IS 

EXPECTED   OF   THEM 

THERE  was  much  congratulating  and  fe- 
licitating and  handshaking,  all  round, 
when  we  were  out  upon  the  street  again,  and  I 
dare  say  those  who  passed  us,  as  we  stood 
gaily  talking  and  laughing,  wondered  what  it 
was  that  made  us  so  elated.  Bertrand  sum- 
moned an  open  fiacre,  into  which  Eleanor  and  I 
got,  expecting  him  to  follow,  but,  instead,  he 
lifted  his  hat  ceremoniously  and  made  us  a  lit- 
tle speech. 

"  Florimond,  I  envy  you,   for  you  are  this 
day  the  most  favored  of  mortals.     You  are  per- 
mitted to  ride  by  the  side  of  the  great  singer 
for  whom  the  world  waits.     Has  not  the  Sig- 
137 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

nor  Tonnelli  told  us?  To  you,  Florimond,  is 
given  that  which  the  gods  alone  have  always, 
the  privilege  of  sharing  happiness  and  fame 
when  it  is  new.  Guard  Miss  Moore  well ;  she  is 
precious  now,  not  only  to  her  friends  but  to 
the  whole  world.  I  leave  her  in  your  care,  en- 
vying you  the  honor."  He  then  gaily  ad- 
dressed Eleanor.  "  Mademoiselle,  I  make  the 
sacrifice.  My  duty  calls  me  to  Ville  d'Avray, 
that  I  may  acquaint  Madame  Pointer  with  your 
triumph,  that  there  may  be  another  one  happy 
this  day  because  you  are  happy.  Mademoiselle 
—  Monsieur  —  je  vous  salue." 

We  waved  our  hands  to  him  as  the  cab  drove 
away,  and  Eleanor  continued  to  look  back  at 
Bertrand  and  wave  to  him,  until  we  turned  a 
corner  and  he  was  hidden  from  her  sight. 
Surreptitiously,  she  raised  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes  and  was  silent.  The  action  had  not 
escaped  me,  and  I  respected  her  emotion  too 
much  to  attempt  conversation.  I,  too,  was 
busy  with  my  own  thoughts,  for  this  suggestion 
138 


MASTER  HANDS 

of  Signer  Tonnelli  to  take  Eleanor  away  from 
Paris  had  sprung,  I  knew,  from  his  own  de- 
sires. Perfectly  as  it  accorded  with  the  wishes 
of  those  who  were  in  the  little  plot,  it  had  not 
been  arranged  by  them,  and  I  pictured  the  de- 
light the  news  would  give  to  Madame  Pointer. 
Gladly  would  I  have  been  the  messenger  of  the 
welcome  tidings,  but,  after  all,  it  was  Ber- 
trand's  right:  the  audition  Signor  Tonnelli  had 
accorded  Eleanor  had  been  of  Bertrand's  de- 
vising. 

After  a  long  silence  Eleanor  spoke.  "  How 
glad  Bruce  will  be  to  hear  what  Signor  Tonnelli 
said !  "  she  remarked  musingly.  So  that,  I  re- 
flected, was  the  home  hive  to  which  her  thoughts 
were  winging  with  their  freight  of  honey! 
"  And  how  excited  Aunt  Ella  will  be ! "  she 
added,  but  Aunt  Ella  was  so  evidently  an  after- 
thought. 

An  inspiration  came  to  me.  "  You  and  your 
aunt  and  Mr.  Converse  will  do  me  the  honor  of 
dining  with  me  this  evening."  It  would  not  be 
139 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

/ 

wise  to  allow  those  two  young  people  to  be 
alone  at  this  critical  time.  I  think  she  was 
about  to  dissent,  but  I  added  that  I  would  not 
accept  a  refusal,  and  so  it  was  arranged.  We 
idined  very  well  at  Lavenue's.  Mrs.  Crackenby 
and  I  had  Bruce  Converse  and  Eleanor  between 
us,  and  we  listened  to  them  talking  away  en- 
thusiastically as  only  young  people  can  talk 
when  the  great  door  of  life  is  just  swinging 
open  to  them  and  they  get  a  glimpse  inside  and 
see  only  the  brilliant  lights  and  the  friendly 
throng  waiting  to  receive  them.  Experience 
has  taught  me  that  nothing  rubs  out  the  dull 
marks  of  the  years  so  effectively  as  association 
with  younger  and  more  enthusiastic  persons. 
I  am  sure,  with  those  two  between  us  talking 
away  so  hopefully  and  confidently  and  opti- 
mistically, Mrs.  Craekenby  and  I,  for  the  time 
being,  left  twenty  years  behind  us,  hung  them 
up,  as  it  were,  with  her  wrap  and  my  hat  be- 
hind the  door,  out  of  sight,  forgotten. 

Afterward,  we  went  into  the  cafe  and  heard 
140 


MASTER  HANDS 

Schumacher  play  on  the  violin,  bringing  to  life 
again  with  his  sympathetic  mastery  ancient 
favorites,  song  ghosts  of  the  so  long  ago,  until, 
along  with  Eleanor  and  Bruce  and  even  Mrs. 
Crackenby,  I  was  humming  melodies  that  I  had 
hummed  in  my  youth.  How  often  in  listening 
to  music  I  have  been  reminded  of  the  words  of 
Richter :  "  Thou  speakest  to  me  of  things 
which  in  all  my  endless  life  I  have  not  found 
and  shall  not  find."  More  than  once  that  even- 
ing, I  trod  familiar  fields  of  asphodel  where  I 
once  had  stood,  even  as  Bruce  and  Eleanor  were 
standing  now,  on  tiptoe  with  enthusiastic  ex- 
pectancy. 

Ah,  the  fleeting  rapture  of  youth's  dreaming ! 
Forgetful  and  forgetting,  we  gaze  upon  the 
supernal  vision,  fondly  fancying  it  can  never 
fade,  and  suddenly,  before  we  are  aware,  it  is 
gone.  And  perhaps,  long  after,  when  some 
Schumacher  plays  the  violin,  it  comes  again 
to  us  but  only  for  a  moment.  Even  as  we  try 
to  fasten  its  familiar  features,  searching  in  the 
141 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

vague  recollection  for  the  charm  that  once  en- 
thralled us,  some  one  leaves  the  cafe  door  ajar 
and  we  discover  we  are  sitting  in  a  draught  and 
in  danger  of  catching  cold.  The  fear  of 
draughts  is  the  beginning  of  old  age. 

Eleanor  startled  me  out  of  my  reverie  by  a 
direct  question :  "  Why  so  silent,  Prince  Flori- 
mond?  Are  you  composing  passages  for  that 
mysterious  book  you  are  writing?  " 

They  all  knew  that  I  was  much  occupied,  just 
then,  with  my  writing  and,  for  their  amusement 
and  my  own,  I  pretended  always  to  make  a 
great  secret  of  it.  I  met  her  teasing  glance 
with  oracular  solemnity.  "  Whole  pages,"  I 
replied,  adding  with  more  truth  than  she  could 
guess,  "  largely  about  you ;  you  are  the 
heroine." 

To  please  me  she  clasped  her  hands  in  af- 
fected delight.  "  And  do  you  make  me  a  won- 
iderful  great  singer?  " 

"  Could  anything  else  be  possible,  Ma- 
demoiselle? " 

142 


MASTER  HANDS 

She  bowed  her  acknowledgment.  "  And  am 
I  very  happy  and  does  it  all  end  well  ?  " 

"  Would  I  dare  have  it  otherwise  ?  " 

"Am  I,   oh,   madly,  passionately   in  love?" 

Her  questions  were  cornering  me  quite  closely. 
Bruce  Converse  came  unintentionally  to  my 
rescue.  "  Haven't  you  put  me  in  it  ?  "  he 
asked. 

Mrs.  Crackenby  shot  at  him  a  quick  glance 
that  I  fancied  held  suspicion.  "  The  prince 
isn't  going  to  have  it  a  silly  love-story,  I  am 
sure,"  she  asserted,  addressing  her  remarks  to 
Eleanor.  "  He  will  make  it  a  story  of  a  great 
singer  whose  head  isn't  filled  with  sentimental 
nonsense  about  marriage  and  love.  Singers, 
if  they  want  to  be  famous,  have  enough  to  do 
if  they  will  think  only  of  their  singing." 

"  Aunt  Ella,  one  would  imagine  you  were  a 
man-hater.  Can't  a  woman  be  a  great  singer 
and  be  in  love,  too?  " 

"  She  can  not."  Mrs.  Crackenby  settled  the 
question  in  a  way  that  left  no  room  for  doubt. 
143 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

"  Of  course  she  can."'  It  was  Bruce  Con- 
verse who  spoke.  "  I  beg  your  pardon  for 
contradicting  you,  Aunt  Ella,  but — "  he  smiled, 
"  you're  wrong." 

"  Don't  *  aunt '  me,  young  man,"  Mrs. 
Crackenby  flashed  back.  "  I  know  what  I'm 
talking  about.  If  a  young  woman,  or  a  young 
man  either,  wishes  to  succeed  as  a  singer,  or  a 
painter,  they  must  attend  strictly  to  business. 
They  have  no  time  to  be  thinking  about  love. 
Huh !  Love !  The  idea !  " 

Mrs.  Crackenby  had  the  failing  of  many 
ladies :  she  could  never  long  allow  an  argument 
to  remain  Impersonal.  Eleanor's  face  grew 
distinctly  rosy  but  Bruce  Converse,  who  so  fre- 
quently blushed,  showing  that,  after  all,  he  was 
not  much  more  than  a  boy  despite  his  stature, 
now  remained  calm  under  Mrs.  Crackenby's 
scornful  gaze.  He  was  acting  very  well,  I 
thought,  and  showed  excellent  self-posses- 
sion. 

"  Now,  'Aunt  Ella,"  he  protested  boldly,  « if 
144 


MASTER  HANDS 

two  young  people  were  in  love  with  each 
other—" 

"  'Sh,"  came  from  the  tables  around  us ; 
Schumacher  was  playing  again.  Converse 
ceased  speaking  abruptly  but,  as  he  settled  him- 
self in  his  chair,  I  saw  him  smile  and  I  am 
quite  sure  that  I  caught  a  deliberate  wink  as 
he  glanced  at  Eleanor. 

After  I  left  them  that  night,  I  took  a  round- 
about way  to  my  home,  skirting  the  silent 
barred  gardens  to  the  broad  Rue  de  Tournon 
and  thence,  by  the  Rue  de  Seine,  to  the  river, 
then  southward  again,  pondering  all  the  while 
upon  the  question  that  had  been  raised  so  in- 
advertently at  Lavenue's  and  which  had  oc- 
cupied the  thoughts  of  several  of  us  since 
first  our  plot  was  formed.  Is  Art,  as  Ber- 
trand  de  Volney  contends,  such  a  jealous 
mistress  that  those  whom  she  favors  most  highly 
must  serve  her  alone?  If  one  must  choose  be- 
tween Art  and  Love  which  is  to  be  the  sacri- 
fice? Do  great  artists  live  in  a  world  apart, 
145 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

so  far  removed  that  the  laws  governing  other 
human  beings  do  not  apply  to  them?  Is  their 
genius  incapable  of  satisfying  itself  with  that 
passion  which,  to  humbler  individuals,  makes 
even  the  commonplace  beautiful? 

Until  late  that  night,  I  sought  some  satis- 
factory answer  among  the  philosophers,  among 
those  who  are  dead,  gone  and  almost  forgotten, 
and  among  those  who  can  never  die,  who  always 
live  close  to  our  thoughts,  as  though  they  had 
spoken  only  yesterday,  revealing  life  for  us. 

I  grew  discouraged  that  from  them  no  real 
answer  was  to  be  found.  Love  had  been  a 
theme  for  many  of  them,  nearly  all,  and  not  a 
few  had  bent  their  great  minds  to  the  analysis 
of  Art,  but  nowhere  were  the  two  to  be  found 
together.  Art  and  Love ;  Love  and  Art.  Had 
not  one  of  the  philosophers  endeavored  to 
reconcile  the  conflict?  Must  these  two  great 
forces  of  life  be  considered  as  opposed?  These 
dual  incentives  that,  apart,  have  brought  har- 
mony to  the  world,  must  they,  together,  pro- 
146 


MASTER  HANDS 

duce  only  discord?  I  do  not  speak  of  those 
little  loves  that  are  born  of  a  transitory  de- 
sire for  companionship  and  that  one  may  put 
off  or  on,  like  a  familiar  garment,  a  thing  for 
our  comfort.  The  love  that  might  measure  its 
power  with  Art  would  not  be  of  that  kind ;  it 
would  be  a  great  absorbing  Passion  that 
reached  out  to  the  skies  and  beyond,  up  to  the 
stars,  embracing  all,  holding  the  world,  the  uni- 
verse, life,  death,  within  its  grasp,  as  eternal 
as  Truth,  as  everlasting  and  as  beautiful  as 
Art,  which  is  Truth. 

I  knew  that  Love  would  mean  all  this  to 
Eleanor  Moore  and  to  Bruce  Converse,  as  well. 
No  little,  make-shift,  apologetic,  temporizing, 
substituting  affection  would  enmesh  them. 
Their  love  would  be  either  a  great  tragedy, 
pulling  down  the  temple  on  itself,  killing,  de- 
stroying, annihilating,  or  a  supreme  joy, 
celestial  in  its  completeness,  perfect  in  its  com- 
pensation, bringing  happiness  that  even  the 
high  gods  might  envy. 

147 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

It  was  the  next  day  that  I  gave  myself  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  Madame  Pointer,  but  I  was 
not  to  enjoy  conversing  with  her,  uninterrupt- 
edly, regarding  our  friends.  Mr.  Spaulding 
Knapp  was  at  the  villa  when  I  arrived,  and  he 
and  Madame  Pointer  were  so  deeply  engrossed 
in  the  project  for  some  entertainment  in  the 
near  future  that  they  must  at  once  take  me 
into  their  plans. 

"  Mr.  Knapp  has  grown  restless  and  wishes 
to  be  sailing  for  America,"  she  explained.  "  It 
has  been  with  the  greatest  difficulty  I  have  per- 
suaded him  it  is  his  patriotic  duty  to  celebrate 
the  Fourth  of  July  on  land,  instead  of  on  the 
sea,  and  he  has  consented  to  remain  over  to  be 
one  of  our  party.  Of  course  you  will  give  us 
the  pleasure  of  your  company  as  a  good 
American  —  will  you  not  —  Prince  de  Saint  - 
Sauveur.  Please  do  so." 

I  could  only  bow  my  acknowledgment,  for 
Mr.  Knapp  exclaimed  enthusiastically :  "  Yes, 
Prince,  I  have  agreed  to  stay  over  if  Leslie 
148 


MASTER  HANDS 

will  have  a  regular  old-fashioned  spread-eagle 
Fourth." 

Now  I  did  not  know  what  it  was,  this  spread 
of  the  eagle  Fourth,  and  so  I  asked  him  to  ex- 
plain. He  only  laughed.  "  You  must  wait 
and  see.  It  can  not  be  described." 

It  was  all  arranged,  and  I  assisted  with  their 
planning.  Our  little  company  of  friends  was 
to  be  at  Madame  Pointer's  on  the  occasion  of 
the  national  holiday:  De  Volney  and  Bruce 
Converse  and  Eleanor  and  Mrs.  Crackenby  and 
Signer  Tonnelli,  if  he  should  be  still  in  France, 
and  the  three  young  gentlemen  who  were  study- 
ing art,  and  Madame  Pointer's  mother,  who 
was  expected  from  America.  There  was  to  be 
a  dinner  under  the  trees  and  speeches  and  fire- 
works, but,  still,  I  could  not  learn  what  it  was, 
this  spreading  of  the  eagle.  Madame  Pointer 
and  Mr.  Knapp  laughed  a  great  deal  about 
that. 

When  we  had  exhausted  the  subject  of  the 
celebration  and  were  all  in  a  very  good  humor 
149 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

about  it,  the  talk  turned  to  Eleanor  Moore  and 
Bruce  Converse.  Mr.  Knapp  appeared  to  be 
informed  of  the  plot  that  had  been  devised,  for 
after  Madame  Pointer  had  congratulated  me 
and  thanked  me  very  gracefully  for  the  small 
part  I  had  taken,  that  surprising  Mr.  Knapp 
cast  a  damper  upon  our  spirits  by  sounding  a 
warning. 

"  Be  careful,  Leslie,"  he  cautioned,  "  or 
those  you  seek  to  befriend  will  only  hate  you 
for  your  trouble." 

He  was  so  solemn  that  we  both  laughed,  for 
he  could  not  be  aware  that  the  plot  was  pro- 
gressing so  smoothly  and  well,  and  that 
Eleanor  and  Bruce  Converse  were  entirely 
happy,  their  thoughts  occupied  with  the 
glorious  work  each  intended  to  perform.  We 
knew  their  content  to  be  so  complete,  and  we 
felt  such  a  just  pleasure  in  what  we  had  been 
able  to  do  for  them,  that  Mr.  Knapp's  unex- 
pected attitude  provoked  only  our  merriment. 
He  would  not  admit  his  error,  for  he  was,  I 
150 


MASTER  HANDS 

think,  an  obstinate  man,  but  he  turned  the  talk 
into  other  channels,  and  soon  after,  pleading 
the  need  of  exercise,  left  us,  and  we  could  see 
him  walking  on  the  winding  shaded  road  that 
led  up  to  the  villa,  his  sturdy  figure  swinging 
along  briskly,  his  short  strides  giving  the 
impression  of  activity,  his  heels  descending 
sharply  upon  the  gravel  road  as  if,  even  in  his 
exercise,  his  nature  showed  itself  to  be  aggress- 
ive. 

"  I  was  not  aware  Monsieur  Knapp  was  so 
timid,"  I  remarked  with  a  smile,  as  I  observed 
Madame  Pointer  also  regarding  him. 

"  Spaulding  has  become  a  true  sentimental- 
ist," she  confided.  "  It  must  be  the  effect  of 
your  wonderful  France,  Prince  Florimond." 

That  made  me  very  gay.  "  Ah,  Madame, 
France  is  wonderful,  but  even  it  can  not  con- 
vert your  cold,  practical  business  man  into  a 
sentimentalist.  There  must  be  some  other 
cause." 

I    was  amused    by    the    idea,    but    Madame 
151 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Pointer  was  serious.  "  You  must  not  laugh 
at  him  too  much,"  she  urged,  and  I  thought  I 
detected  a  note  of  pity  in  her  voice.  "  Spauld- 
ing  Knapp  is  not  so  cold  and  practical  as  you 
may  think." 

"  Laugh  at  him,  my  dear  Madame  Pointer ! 
I  honor  him  all  the  more." 

"  Ah,  but  you  do  laugh  at  him,  even  though 
you  would  wish  not  to.  Some  day,  it  may  be 
that  I  will  tell  you  —  She  was  speaking  as 
if  in  a  reverie,  and  as  if  the  words  had  escaped 
her  without  her  willing  it,  for  she  paused 
abruptly,  shaking  her  head. 

"  Some  day  — "  I  urged,  for  I  was  quite 
curious  as  to  what  she  had  been  about  to  say. 

"  No ;  I  can  not  tell  you,  even  '  some  day,' 
but  I  wish  you  to  know,  Prince  Florimond,  that 
Spaulding  Knapp  has  been  my  good  friend  for 
many  years.  I  have  sought  his  advice  and  help 
in  sorrow  and  suffering,  and  I  may,  at  times, 
have  appeared  to  him  cruelly  ungrateful,  but 
152 


MASTER  HANDS 

he  has  never  failed  me.  He  is  the  stanchest 
friend  I  have  ever  known." 

I  bowed  my  head.  "  Madame,  there  are 
men  who  would  give  all  they  possess  to  be 
honored  by  such  a  tribute  from  you." 

It  may  have  been  fancy,  but  I  thought  that 
when  Mr.  Knapp  returned  she  treated  him 
with  added  tenderness.  Her  remarks,  and  the 
disclosure  she  had  seemed  about  to  make  and 
had  not  made,  persisted  in  my  memory.  I  be- 
gan to  see  affairs  in  another  light.  Strange 
that  never  before  had  I  regarded  Mr.  Spauld- 
ing  Knapp  as  her  suitor,  but  now  it  seemed 
clear ;  otherwise,  why  should  he  who  gave  him- 
self so  little  leisure,  and  who  was  known  for 
his  slavish  attention  to  his  business,  absent 
himself  from  those  affairs  and  remain  so  long 
in  Europe?  I  confess  I  should  not  have  con- 
sidered him  the  type  of  man  that  would  be  at- 
tractive as  a  suitor  to  such  a  lady  as  Madame 
Pointer,  but  are  there  many  women  who  would 
153 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

not  find  irresistible  the  combination  of  a  kind 
generous  heart  and  a  colossal  fortune? 

Madame  Pointer  urged  him  very  cordially 
to  remain  for  dinner  and  the  invitation  was 
extended  to  me.  We  were  persuaded,  with- 
out much  difficulty,  to  accept,  and  had  a  charm- 
ing dinner  served  on  the  veranda  by  candle- 
light. Afterward,  we  sat  about  the  table, 
Monsieur  Knapp  smoking  his  big  cigars  and  I 
my  cigarettes,  until  the  moon  rose  and  the 
nightingales  began  singing  in  the  trees  near  us, 
filling  the  warm  night  with  their  music,  to 
which  we  listened  silently. 

When  I  arrived  at  my  home  that  night, 
Gaspard  was  waiting  up  to  tell  me  that  the 
Vicomte  cle  Volney  had  called  and  wished 
urgently  to  see  me.  He  would  return  the  next 
morning. 

A  remarkable  part  of  life  is,  I  think,  not 

that  we  have  so  little  faith  but  that  we  have 

so  much.     It  is  of  the  commonest  experience 

that  what  we  were  most  sure  of  turns  out  to  be 

154 


MASTER  HANDS 

the  opposite  of  what  we  had  considered  it  to 
be.  We  become  certain  of  one  thing,  only  to 
discover  it  is  another.  All  our  lives  long, 
from  the  first  moments  of  cognition,  we  are 
being  deceived  and  undeceived  —  which  is 
sometimes  the  more  cruel  of  the  two  —  but  we 
go  on,  in  spite  of  this,  placing  complete  reliance 
in  the  testimony  of  our  senses;  we  go  on  be- 
lieving that  what  seems  to  be  true  is  true. 

Not  one  of  us  had  doubted  that  Bruce  Con- 
verse and  Eleanor  were  so  occupied  with  their 
work,  and  that  their  minds  were  so  completely 
filled  with  the  careers  opening  so  auspiciously 
for  them,  that  there  no  longer  existed  any  dan- 
ger that  they  would  shipwreck  the  hopes 
we  had  formed  for  them  by  dashing  themselves 
upon  rocks  we  had,  with  such  pains,  caused 
them  to  avoid.  Bertrand,  when  he  came  to 
my  house  the  next  morning,  shattered  that  con- 
fidence in  a  sentence. 

"  Miss  Moore  will  not  sign  the  contract  with 
Tonnelli,"  he  announced.  "  She  says  it  is  be- 
155 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

cause  of  Karylli ;  that  she  does  not  wish  to 
appear  ungrateful.  Can  you  believe  that  such 
is  the  real  motive?  " 

I  agreed  with  him  that  it  was  most  un- 
likely. "  She  puts  him  off  without  a  definite 
answer  until  his  patience  is  becoming  ex- 
hausted," Bertrand  continued,  speaking  rap- 
idly. "  No,  the  real  reason  is  that  she  does 
not  want  to  leave  Paris  as  long  as  Bruce  Con- 
verse is  here.  And  as  for  Converse!  He  is 
no  longer  painting  landscapes.  I  have  been  to 
his  studio.  He  is  again  at  work  on  that  mis- 
erable portrait.  The  truth  is,  Florimond, 
they  have  fallen  more  deeply  in  love  than  ever. 
We  have  worked  blindly.  Now  it  may  be  too 
late,  but  whatever  can  be  done  must  be  done, 
at  once." 

I  waited.  De  Volney  was  not  one  to  lack 
ideas,  and  presently  he  outlined  the  plan  he  had 
formed.  Tonnelli,  who  was  as  much  set  as  we 
were  upon  having  Eleanor  go  away,  was  to  force 
her  decision  by  a  sort  of  ultimatum;  Madame 
156 


MASTER  HANDS 

Pointer  was  to  lose  no  time  in  going  to  the 
chateau  she  had  taken  near  Fcntaineblcau,  and 
she  was  to  invite  Converse  to  be  her  guest  there ; 
her  invitation  would  be  one  that  he  could  not  well 
decline.  Thus  were  Eleanor  and  Bruce  Con- 
verse to  be  separated. 

We  went  to  see  Madame  Pointer  that  morn- 
ing. She  was  alarmed  at  the  state  of  affairs 
De  Volney  described,  and  readily  consented  to 
do  her  part.  To  me  was  assigned  the  pleasant 
role  of  entertainer  to  Eleanor  and  Mrs. 
Crackenby,  devising  invitations  that  should 
consume  a  good  deal  of  Eleanor's  leisure. 
Bertrand  was  to  fill  a  similar  office  in  regard 
to  Mr.  Converse.  Between  us  we  made  quite 
an  elaborate  plot.  We  became  true  conspira- 
tors. But  would  we  succeed?  We  all  felt 
that  exquisite  doubt  which  must  come  to  every 
schemer  as  the  moment  approaches  when  his 
carefully  conceived  plot  is  to  be  put  to  the 
test. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WE  ASSIST  AT   A   PLAY  THAT   HAS  A   HAPPY 
ENDING 

IT  was  a  day  of  radiant  perfection,  such  a 
day  as  the  responding  soul  would  embrace 
and  hold  forever.  The  sunshine  was  tempered 
by  the  occasional  passing  of  light  cumulous 
clouds  and  a  constant  fresh  breeze  that  was 
not  boisterous  enough  to  annoy  but  sufficiently 
strong  to  add  life  to  the  landscape  by  setting 
the  tree-tops  to  dancing  and  starting  endless 
trains  of  pursuing  ripples  upon  the  surface  of 
lake  and  river.  An  atmosphere  of  holiday,  a 
sentiment  of  the  Sabbath  such  as  one  often  ob- 
serves in  nature,  spread  over  city  and  country. 
As  I  rode  on  my  way  to  attend  that  celebration 
at  the  home  of  Madame  Pointer,  when  I  should 
learn  of  the  spread  of  the  eagle,  I  observed 
158 


WE  ASSIST  AT  A  PLAY 

that  many  of  the  houses  lining  the  avenues 
were  closed,  and  I  suddenly  realized  that  the 
season,  as  we  know  it  in  Paris,  was  ended;  the 
butterfly  of  fashion  that  spreads  its  wings  so 
early  had  taken  flight.  The  observation  occa- 
sioned surprise,  for,  so  swiftly  had  the  days 
passed,  I  was  unaware  the  summer  was  already 
so  advanced. 

We  were  to  dine  early  because  of  the  fire- 
works that  were  to  follow,  and  I  arrived  at  the 
villa  an  hour  before  the  appointed  time,  but 
already  the  fete  appeared  to  be  in  progress,  for 
even  from  the  roadside  I  heard  voices  singing 
a  patriotic  song  and  I  had  no  difficulty  in  dis- 
tinguishing the  vocal  efforts  of  Mr.  Sammy 
Potts,  Mr.  Amos  Tuttle  and  Mr.  Johnny  Judd. 
They  were  endeavoring  to  compensate  for  their 
lack  of  technical  training  by  fervor  of  ex- 
pression. Unhappily  for  their  patriotic  in- 
tentions, they  could  not  remember  the  words. 
No  doubt  they  welcomed  the  diversion  caused 
by  my  arrival. 

159 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Madame  Pointer  presented  me  to  her  mother, 
Madame  Worthing,  who  had  arrived  in  France 
the  day  before,  a  lovely  and  lovable  old  lady 
with  snow-white  hair  framing  features  as  regu- 
lar as  those  of  her  daughter.  How  few  old 
ladies,  nowadays,  have  snow-white  hair,  and 
how  delightful  it  is  to  find  such  a  one  who  has 
grown  old  so  gracefully  that  she  had  lost  none 
of  her  interest  in  life!  I  have  in  mind,  as  I 
write,  another  lady  as  lovely  and  beautiful  as 
Madame  Worthing  —  my  own  beloved  Aunt 
Fanny  —  and,  probably,  you,  too,  are  in  the 
possession  of  such  a  memory.  Mr.  Spaulding 
Knapp  had  been  at  the  villa  all  the  afternoon 
aiding  in  arranging  the  celebration,  and  De 
Volney  had  come  early  to  be  of  service,  so  I 
found  them  both  there  when  I  arrived. 
Eleanor  and  Mrs.  Crackenby  came  soon  after, 
and  with  them  was  Signer  Tonnelli.  Bruce 
Converse  joined  the  party  later.  He  had 
been  painting  near  the  villa,  and  showed  us 
the  sketch  he  had  made,  a  sunny  sweep  of  fields 
160 


with  a  line  of  Lombardy  poplars  in  the  fore- 
ground, which  was  greatly  admired  by  us  all. 

Over  the  gathering  was  that  spirit  of  in- 
formal jollity  that  is  a  part  of  what  the  Eng- 
lish call  picnics  and  which  we  of  France 
have  endeavored  vainly  to  imitate.  Laughing, 
talking,  those  who  had  come  to  take  part  in 
the  celebration  formed  now  a  great  group  with 
all  listening  to  one  person ;  now  small  groups 
of  three  or  four  and  sometimes  only  two,  all 
meeting  and  parting  again  and  changing  like 
the  colored  bits  of  glass  in  a  kaleidoscope. 
Bertrand  and  I  had  the  opportunity  for  a 
conversation  apart.  We  were  both,  I  think, 
more  than  a  little  excited  by  the  knowledge  that 
this  evening  would  probably  prove  crucial  as 
far  as  the  plans  we  had  formed  were  con- 
cerned. 

Signor   Tonnelli   had  not  yet   delivered  the 

threatened   ultimatum,    failing   to    agree   with 

our  opinion  that  such  a  course  would  be  wise. 

He  declined  to  precipitate  matters  as  long  as 

161 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

the  possibility  existed  of  Eleanor  acting  as 
was  desired  upon  her  own  initiative. 

"  My  experience  teach  me,"  he  explained, 
"  that  when  any  one  try  to  force  a  woman  to 
decide  against  her  will,  she  will  decide  the  way 
he  does  not  wish."  But  Signor  Tonnelli  was 
leaving  for  San  Sebastian  in  a  day  or  two,  and 
Eleanor's  answer  could  not  be  delayed  much 
longer. 

Madame  Pointer  had  also  postponed  her  in- 
vitation to  Bruce  Converse.  In  talking  it  over 
we  had  agreed  that  the  present  celebration 
would  be  an  excellent  occasion.  Madame 
Pointer  and  her  mother  were  departing  from 
Paris  as  soon  as  they  could,  and  there  would 
not  be  much  time  for  Mr.  Converse  to  consider 
the  invitation.  He  would,  indeed,  be  forced 
to  give  his  answer  at  once. 

I    had    seen    Eleanor    and    Bruce    Converse 

several  times  recently,  and  my  observation  told 

me   that   De  Volney's   fears   were   not   without 

reason.     The    two    had    plainly    passed    that 

162 


WE  ASSIST  AT  A  PLAY 

stage  of  admiration  which  Stendhal  charac- 
terizes as  the  first  step  in  love,  and  had  rapidly 
progressed  to  what  the  author  of  L 'Amour 
considers  the  fifth  degree,  the  beginning  of  the 
first  crystallization,  that  unmeasurable  period 
of  exaltation  when  "  It  is  only  necessary  to 
think  of  a  perfection  to  discover  it  in  the  per- 
son one  loves." 

As  Bertrand  and  I  talked  over  these  things, 
the  scene  before  us  changed.  Darkness  had 
begun,  and  under  the  trees  appeared  round 
glowing  lights  of  orange  and  green  and  red 
and  yellow,  like  full  moons  of  many  colors. 
So  ingeniously  had  the  lanterns  been  placed,  I 
had  not  observed  them  until  they  thus  suddenly 
burst  forth  in  their  brilliance. 

The  dinner  was  served  in  a  bower  near  the 
villa.  At  one  end  of  the  long  table  was  Ma- 
dame Pointer  and  at  the  other  Mr.  Spaulding 
Knapp,  who  took  an  undisguised  delight  in  the 
proceedings.  Never  had  I  known  him  before 
to  exhibit  so  much  of  that  vivacity  of  interest 
163 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

in  trivial  matters  that  demonstrates  one  has 
the  heart  still  young.  He  acted  as  director 
of  the  feast,  spurring  each  one  to  conversation 
and  laughter.  I  will  not  say  that  I  have 
assisted  at  no  other  dinner  where  there  was  so 
much  to  interest,  but  I  will  say  that  never  have 
I  been  present  at  a  dinner  when  there  was  more 
of  merriment.  Nor  can  I  recall  why  it  was 
that  all  of  us  laughed  so  much,  but  I  have 
never  had  much  patience  with  those  philoso- 
phers who  seek  to  analyze  too  closely  the  se- 
cret of  our  laughter.  We  should  be  con- 
tent that  we  can  laugh  without  thinking  too 
much  about  the  reason  why  we  are  amused. 

When  the  dinner  was  at  an  end,  Mr.  Knapp 
announced  that  there  would  be  speeches  and 
that  each  one  would  be  expected  to  say  some- 
thing appropriate  to  the  day.  He  would  be- 
gin, he  said,  and  turning  to  me,  as  he  pushed 
his  chair  back  with  ceremony,  he  remarked: 
"  Prince,  you  will  now  kindly  observe  how  that 
eagle  is  spread." 

164 


WE  ASSIST  AT  A  PLAY 

Although  most  attentively  I  listened,  I  can 
not  describe  to  you  that  speech  or  tell  you 
what  he  said.  It  is  beyond  my  powers.  I 
had  not  before  heard  anything  like  it.  With 
an  expression  of  great  solemnity,  Mr.  Spauld- 
ing  Knapp  poured  forth  so  many  rolling  high- 
sounding  words  that  I  grew  confused.  Often 
was  he  interrupted,  at  some  particularly 
sonorous  sentence,  by  cries  of  "  Hip,  hip, 
hooray ! "  from  the  three  young  art  students, 
and  each  time,  Mr.  Knapp  gravely  bowed  his 
appreciation,  as  the  others  added  their  ap- 
plause. 

Madame  Pointer,  at  whose  right  I  had  the 
honor  of  being  placed,  turned  to  me  with  tears 
of  laughter  in  her  eyes.  "  He  used  to  do  that 
to  amuse  us  when  he  was  a  young  man  just 
beginning  to  take  an  interest  in  political  af- 
fairs," she  whispered  to  me;  and  Bruce  Con- 
verse, who  sat  opposite,  and  who  had  been 
laughing  more  heartily  than  I  had  ever  seen 
him  laugh,  leaned  across  the  table  to  say: 
165 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

"  You  might  not  believe  it,  but  I  have  heard 
political  orators  make  almost  identically  the 
same  speech." 

When  Mr.  Knapp  had  concluded,  with  a 
great  flourish,  his  remarkable  oration,  he 
bowed  to  the  applause,  and  as  he  took  his  seat, 
called  to  me  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye :  "  Now,  Prince,  do  you 
understand  what  it  is,  the  spread  of  the 
eagle?  " 

"  I  am  not  altogether  sure,"  I  answered, 
"  but  I  think  I  have  obtained  an  inkling," 
which  caused  them  all  to  laugh  again. 

No  one  could  make  a  speech  like  Mr.  Knapp. 
Ah,  no,  that  was  not  to  be  expected,  but  each 
one  said  something  very  well  indeed,  I  thought, 
and  last  of  all,  Eleanor  sang  one  of  those  songs 
that  all  English  speaking  people  know  the  world 
over,  and  we  joined  her  in  singing  the  chorus. 

The  feu  d'artifice  was  all  that  Mr.  Knapp 
had  promised.  He  had  been  true  to  his  word, 
and  had  found,  where  I  do  not  know,  what  he 
166 


WE  ASSIST  AT  A  PLAY 

called  "  real  American  fireworks,"  which  made 
a  pretty  show  in  the  park.  Grouped  at  a  lit- 
tle distance  from  them,  we  watched  the  rockets 
and  bombs  and  colored  fires,  with  exclamations 
of  delight.  We  were  in  the  part  of  the  park 
most  distant  from  the  villa,  and  when  the  ex- 
hibition was  ended  and  we  turned  to  make  our 
way  to  the  house,  our  eyes  had  looked  so  long 
upon  the  brilliant  display  that  it  seemed  very 
dark  under  the  big  trees.  So  obscure  was  the 
walk  that  Eleanor,  who  was  beside  me,  took  my 
arm.  We  could  hear  in  front  of  us  the 
laughter  of  the  others  without  seeing  them,  ex- 
cept when  one,  or  another,  would  pass  for  a 
moment  under  a  suspended  lantern. 

Madame  Pointer  and  Bruce  Converse  were 
a  few  yards  in  advance  of  us,  and  as  we  neared 
the  villa  we  observed  them  pause  under  a  red 
lantern,  the  candle  of  which  was  sputtering. 
They  were  talking  excitedly.  Suddenly,  Ma- 
dame Pointer  held  out  her  hand  to  the  young 
painter,  who  seized  it  fervently. 
167 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

"  It  is  agreed,  then,"  we  heard  her  cry 
jubilantly.  "  You  will  come  with  us.  I  have 
your  promise?  " 

"  My  promise !  "  he  replied  gaily.  "  You 
have  my  eternal  gratitude." 

"  Splendid !  "  and  she  shook  his  hand  warmly, 
as  they  passed,  laughing,  out  from  under  the 
reflection  of  the  lantern  and  were  hidden  in  the 
darkness. 

I  felt  Eleanor's  arm  tighten  upon  my  own, 
and  I  thought  J[  heard  her  sigh,  but  I  was 
probably  mistaken,  for  she  had  been  silent, 
almost  triste,  I  had  thought ;  but,  now,  she 
began  talking  with  animation  of  the  beauty  of 
the  fireworks  and  of  the  merriment  of  the  din- 
ner, and  she  was  still  talking  when  we  came  to 
the  villa,  where  the  others  were  already  mak- 
ing their  farewells.  It  was  while  we  were  thus 
engaged  that  Madame  Pointer,  announcing 
that  she  would  leave  the  villa  within  a  few  days 
to  go  with  her  mother  to  the  chateau  they  had 
taken  near  Fontainebleau,  told  us  that  Bruce 
168 


WE  ASSIST  AT  A  PLAY 

Converse  was  to  visit  them  there,  where  he 
would  have  close  at  hand  the  landscapes  that 
inspired  Millet  and  Corot  and  all  that  glorious 
little  band.  She  was  very  happy,  and  urged 
all  of  us  to  come  to  the  chateau  if  we  could, 
and  Mr.  Sammy  Potts,  Mr.  Amos  Tuttle  and 
Mr.  Johnny  Judd  said  they  would  surely  ac- 
cept the  invitation  during  the  summer  that 
they  might  see  how  closely  Bruce  Converse  ap- 
proached the  masters  on  their  own  ground. 
They  were  very  proud  of  him. 

"  And  I  hope  that  you  will  come  to  make  us 
a  visit,  too,"  said  Madame  Pointer  to  Signor 
Tonnelli,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  parting. 

"  Ah,  Madame,  it  is  not  possible."  He  shook 
his  head  with  lugubrious  exaggeration.  "  You 
are  verra  kind,  but,  no,  it  is  not  possible.  I 
shall  be  so  far  away.  I  shall  be  sad.  You  are 
all  so  verra  happy  here.  Only  me,  the  poor  im- 
presario, I  am  not  happy.  Mees  Moore,  she 
has  not  said  she  will  sign  the  contract  I  make 
for  her.  I  find  a  younga  lady  with  a  most 
169 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

beautiful  voice;  I  want  to  make  her  a  great 
prima  donna,  and  she  will  not  let  me." 

He  shook  his  head  again,  and  the  little  man 
seemed  quite  pathetic  as  he  related  his  mis- 
fortune. We  all  looked  from  him  to  Eleanor. 
Her  head  was  thrown  slightly  back,  her  lips 
pressed  tightly  together  until  they  made  only 
a  thin  straight  line,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to 
have  changed  from  blue  to  black.  There  was 
something  almost  defiant  in  her  attitude  as  she 
faced  Signor  Tonnelli. 

"  I  am  ready  to  sign,"  she  said  without  a 
tremor. 

He  could  not  believe  her.  "  Ready,  ah,  yes," 
he  repeated  ironically,  "  but  when  ?  " 

"  When  you  wish.     Now,  if  you  like." 

"You  mean  it?" 

"  Yes." 

Like  a  magician,  the  little  impresario  took 
from  his  pocket  the  contract,  and  with  an- 
other gesture  that  reminded  one  more  and  more 
of  the  tricks  men  perform  upon  the  stage,  he 
170 


WE  ASSIST  AT  A  PLAY 

produced  a  pen,  and  very  quickly  unscrewing 
the  cap,  placed  the  pen  and  the  paper  in  Elea- 
nor's hands. 

"We  have  a  celebration,  too,  eh?"  he  ex- 
claimed. We  could  all  see  how  excited  he  was, 
though  he  tried  hard  to  appear  natural. 

Eleanor  was  as  calm  as  the  night  itself. 
"Where?  "  was  all  she  asked  as  she  spread  the 
paper  open  upon  a  table  at  her  side. 

"  There,  there,"  cried  Signer  Tonnelli,  put- 
ting one  of  his  fat  little  hands  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sheet.  "  You  sign  there."  We  could 
see  his  finger  shaking,  but  Eleanor  wrote  her 
name  quite  deliberately  and  handed  the  paper 
back  to  him,  as  if  it  were  something  that  had 
no  importance  at  all. 

It  seemed  as  if  regaining  that  bit  of  paper 
caused  Signor  Tonnelli's  agitation  to  dis- 
appear. He  no  longer  smiled  as  I  should  have 
thought  he  would  do.  "  Grazie"  he  said 
almost  curtly.  "  And  when  do  we  leave,  Ma- 
demoiselle? " 

171 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

"  When  you  wish,"  responded  Eleanor,  as 
if  the  matter  were  not  of  pressing  interest. 

"  The  day  after,  to-morrow,  then,  we  go  to 
Spain." 

"  As  you  will." 

We  had  all  been  watching  this  scene  as  one 
watches  a  play,  but  now  every  one  crowded 
about  Eleanor  congratulating  her.  Bruce  Con- 
verse was  among  the  first. 

"  It's  glorious,  Eleanor,"  he  said.  "  We  all 
know  what  this  will  mean." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  answered  vaguely. 

"  It  means  that  I  shall  be  mighty  busy  pack- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Crackenby.  "  They  decide, 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  to  go  away  to  Spain 
the  day  after  to-morrow  without  asking  me  so 
much  as, — 'Can  you  get  ready?'  She 
joined  in  the  laughter  that  followed  her  com- 
plaint. "I'm  not  objecting,"  she  said.  "If 
she  had  listened  to  me,  she  would  have  signed 
Mr.  Tonnelli's  contract  long  ago." 

When  leave-taking  was  begun  again,  Bruce 
172 


WE  ASSIST  AT  A  PLAY 

Converse  came  to  Eleanor's  side,  but  I  thought 
that  now  there  was  a  constraint  in  his  manner 
that  was  not  usual.  "  You  are  going  to  give 
me  the  pleasure  of  taking  home  the  prima 
donna,  I  hope,"  he  said,  smiling  somewhat  un- 
certainly. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Eleanor  with  just 
a  touch  of  formality,  "  but  Prince  Florimond 
has  consented  to  see  us  home.  Please  do  not 
trouble." 

Pride  is  a  strange  tyrant  that  governs 
women,  says  Stendhal.  Now,  though  earlier  in 
the  evening  I  had  asked  of  Eleanor  the  honor  of 
escorting  her  and  her  aunt  and  Signer  Ton- 
nelli  back  to  the  city,  she  had  replied  in- 
directly, giving  me  the  impression  that  she  was 
otherwise  engaged.  Therefore,  I  was  not  a 
little  surprised  at  what  I  had  heard,  but  it 
gave  me  no  less  pleasure. 

On  the  way  home,  Eleanor  was  in  a  gay 
humor.  She  laughed  and  talked,  and  now  and 
then,  when  the  rest  of  us  seemed  ready  to  let  a 
173 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

general  silence  follow  her  sprightly  conversa- 
tion, she  hummed  for  Signor  Tonnelli  bits  of 
operas  she  wished  to  study  with  her  new 
teacher  in  Spain.  It  delighted  me  to  see  her 
in  such  a  bright  mood,  and  Mrs.  Crackenby 
gave  oral  testimony  of  her  appreciation. 

"  I  haven't  seen  you  in  such  good  spirits  for 
I  do  not  know  how  long,  Eleanor,"  she  asserted. 
"  Dear  me,  not  since  that  tea  in  Mr.  Con- 
verse's studio,"  she  added,  as  if  her  memory 
had  suddenly  come  to  her  aid,  in  recalling  the 
time  when  her  niece  was  the  embodiment  of 
joyous  good-humor. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A    GLORIOUS    SUMMER   IS    FOLLOWED    BY   A   DREARY 
WINTER 

LOOKING  backward  through  the  minifying 
lenses  of  past  years  is  much  like  regard- 
ing the  scene  through  reversed  opera-glasses. 
Time  seems  to  turn  the  glasses  roundabout,  so 
that  what  once  appeared  to  us  as  all-important, 
obscuring  everything  else,  assumes  its  rela- 
tive place  and  we  see  it  as  it  really  was. 

Thus,  I  can  see  clearly  enough,  now,  that 
the  pleasant  party  at  Madame  Pointer's 
marked  for  us  all  the  great  change,  though  it 
seemed  at  the  time  merely  an  enjoyable  cele- 
bration such  as  our  small  company  of  friends 
would  likely  repeat  time  and  again.  Within 
less  than  a  week,  Madame  Pointer  had  gone 
175 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

with  her  mother  to  their  chateau,  whither 
Bruce  Converse  had  followed  them ;  Eleanor 
and  Mrs.  Crackenby  and  Signor  Tonnelli  had 
departed  for  Spain,  Mr.  Spaulding  Knapp  had 
embarked  for  America,  De  Volney  had  gone  to 
Trouville  and  I  had  taken  Gaspard  and  the 
other  servants  with  me  to  my  home  on  the  Loire. 
Even  Mr.  Judd,  Mr.  Potts  and  Mr.  Tuttle  had 
left  Paris  to  find  inspiration  at  Pont  Aven  in 
Brittany.  Alas,  it  was  to  be  many  a  long  day 
before  we  were  all  reunited! 

That  summer  and  autumn  were  unlike  any 
others  I  had  ever  experienced.  It  may  have 
been  due  to  the  abrupt  change  from  the  bright 
and  gay  company  of  our  friends  in  Paris,  but, 
for  the  first  time,  the  solitude  of  my  old  home 
weighed  upon  me.  For  years  past,  when  once 
I  was  installed  in  the  old  chateau  I  loved  so 
well,  where  the  very  stones  seemed  like  living 
companions,  it  had  been  impossible  to  persuade 
me  to  desert  it  until  the  leaves  of  the  great 
trees  in  the  park  were  molding  on  the  ground, 
176 


A  DREARY  WINTER 

but  now  I  was  aware  of  an  unpleasant  rest- 
lessness, and  old  occupations  failed  to  interest. 
The  country  seemed  arched  over  with  an  in- 
describable melancholy,  as  if  the  sunny  skies 
of  the  Loire  valley  had  become  continually 
gray. 

Three  times  during  that  summer,  I  had  pleas- 
ant notes  from  Madame  Pointer,  asking  me 
to  visit  them  and  observe  with  my  own  eyes 
the  work  of  Bruce  Converse,  which  she  so  en- 
thusiastically described.  Upon  the  second 
urging,  I  went.  The  chateau  she  occupied  on 
the  edge  of  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau  made 
an  excellent  setting  for  her,  harmonizing  well 
with  the  repose  of  her  character  and  the 
serenity  of  her  beauty. 

I  had  barely  arrived  before  she  insisted  upon 
my  going  with  her  to  see  the  painting  Con- 
verse was  finishing  in  the  forest  near  the 
chateau.  With  Madame  Worthing,  who,  I 
soon  discovered,  fully  shared  her  daughter's 
admiration  for  Converse,  we  set  out  on  foot 
177 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

along  a  small  path  in  the  woods.  We  talked 
of  Eleanor  —  they  had  received  no  direct  news 
from  her  or  Mrs.  Crackenby,  but  De  Volney, 
who  had  been  at  the  chateau  several  times,  had 
had  two  or  three  letters  from  Signor  Tonnelli 
and  I  had  had  two  letters  from  Eleanor  herself, 
all  speaking  of  the  progress  she  was  making 
under  her  new  master.  We  talked  also  of  Ber- 
trand  de  Volney  and  Paris,  but  the  conversa- 
tion was  almost  altogether  about  Bruce  Con- 
verse. Why  must  we  be  of  little  minds? 
Madame  Pointer's  unstinted  praise  of  the 
young  painter,  her  undisguised  interest  in  him, 
caused  the  suspicion  to  leap  into  my  mind,  for 
the  first  time,  that  her  attachment  to  his  art 
might  mask  a  deeper  attachment  for  the  artist. 
It  was  a  base  thought,  unworthy  of  her  and 
of  me,  but  where  is  the  philosopher  who  can  so 
close  all  the  doors  of  his  mind  that  an  unwel- 
come thought  will  not  at  times  come  leaping  in 
before  he  is  aware? 

The  newer  work  of  Bruce  Converse  certainly 
178 


A  DREARY  WINTER 

justified  all  that  had  been  said.  It  was 
stronger,  surer,  maturer,  and  I  found  this 
change  reflected  in  the  young  man.  We  came 
upon  him  perched  on  one  of  those  big  rocks 
that  scattered  through  the  forest,  painting  the 
effect  of  sunlight  upon  some  young  birches. 
He  greeted  us  with  delight,  giving  me  a  hearty 
handshake,  and  then  went  on  painting,  talking 
as  he  worked. 

"  The  work  seems  to  fly  down  here,"  he  said. 
"  Remember  that  day  we  came  down  in  your 
motor?  I  did  not  think  then  I  should  have  a 
whole  summer  of  it,  but  my  good  friends  de- 
clare they  aren't  tired  of  me  and  I'm  staying 
on."  He  turned  round  to  smile  at  Madame 
Pointer  and  Madame  Worthing.  I  learned 
that  he  intended  to  go  to  New  York  in  the 
fall,  and  hoped  to  have  an  exhibition  there  of 
the  pictures  he  was  now  painting.  He  asked 
about  Eleanor,  was  eager  to  know  all  I  could 
tell  him.  "  She  hasn't  written  me,"  he  said ; 
"  but  I  suppose  she  is  too  busy  to  write." 
179 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

It  was  a  very  charming  week-end  that  I 
spent  with  Madame  Pointer  and  her  mother 
and  Bruce  Converse,  and  there  was  a  return 
visit  that  I  shall  long  remember  when  Madame 
Pointer  and  Madame  Worthing  did'  me  the 
honor  to  come  to  my  chateau.  Bruce  Con- 
verse was  so  deep  in  his  work  that  he  could  not 
leave,  but  De  Volney,  who  had  been  with  me 
for  a  week,  made  one  of  the  pleasant  party. 
Not  in  many  years  have  I  seen  the  old  place 
when  it  was  more  beautiful.  The  summer  had 
passed  and  nature  was  entering  on  her  loveli- 
est stage,  that  season  of  full  maturity  just 
before  the  autumn  puts  over  all  the  master 
touch  of  color.  But,  now,  there  was  no  hint 
in  reddened  leaf  or  yellow  grass  of  decay  to 
instil  the  melancholy  suggestion  that  all  things 
must  fade.  The  elms  and  oaks  stood,  in  their 
green  fields,  so  richly  clothed  it  seemed  they 
must  remain  forever  as  they  were. 

Madame  Pointer  expressed  herself  as  en- 
chanted. She  was  much  out  of  doors,  and 
180 


A  DREARY  WINTER 

when  in  the  old  house  appeared  to  find  an  equal 
pleasure  in  exploring  the  great  galleries,  some 
of  them  gloomy  enough.  The  day  before  they 
departed  I  took  her  entirely  over  the  chateau 
from  the  damp  cave  to  the  roof  upon  which 
knights  had  ridden  their  steeds  in  olden  days. 
Madame  Worthing  and  De  Volney  had  de- 
clared the  excursion  too  fatiguing  for  them  and 
they  had  remained  behind,  but  Madame  Pointer 
showed  not  once  a  sign  of  weariness.  I  pointed 
out  to  her  that  door  before  which  my  great 
ancestor,  the  old  Philippe  de  Saint-Sauveur, 
had  stood,  with  drawn  sword,  defying  the 
emissaries  of  the  wicked  regent,  Queen  Cather- 
ine, who  wished  to  take  from  him  his  young 
wife,  her  cousin. 

"  Go  to  the  queen,"  he  said,  "  and  tell  her 
that  my  bride  rests  in  this  room,  but  before 
the  door  stands  Philippe  de  Saint-Sauveur ; 
and  say  to  her  that  whoever  would  enter  this 
room  may,  but  first  he  must  pass  through 
Heaven,  or  hell,  on  the  point  of  my  sword,  that 
181 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

his  soul  may  be  purified  before  it  comes  into 
the  presence  of  my  wife." 

Madame  Pointer  looked  long  at  me,  as  I 
stood  there  where  my  great  ancestor  had  stood 
and  told  her  the  story. 

"  And  did  the  old  prince  keep  his  young 
bride?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  did,  Madame,  and  she  was  happy.  I 
am  the  last  of  their  blood." 

"  How  you  must  love  this  old  place ! "  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Every  stone,"  I  answered  proudly. 
"  Were  it  possible  for  them  to  become  more 
dear  to  me,  they  have  become  so  this  day  be- 
cause you  have  touched  them."  She  smiled  at 
me  and  was  silent  during  the  rest  of  our  excur- 
sion. 

The  next  day  they  were  gone,  all  together, 
for  Bertrand  took  himself  off  with  them, 
though  I  urged  him  to  stay  longer. 

"  You  are  too  melancholy  here  in  your  lonely 
state  for  me,  Florimond,"  he  had  answered 
182 


A  DREARY  WINTER 

laughingly,  and  I  began  to  think  he  might  be 
right. 

I  was  not  slow  in  accepting  the  next  invita- 
tion of  Madame  Pointer,  but  I  regret  now  that 
I  went,  for  I  found  among  the  party  that  de- 
testable Due  de  Mirabelle,  who  gave  himself 
the  airs  of  an  old  friend  and  followed  Madame 
Pointer  everywhere.  For  the  life  of  me  I 
could  not  be  civil  to  him,  and  I  left  for  my 
home  a  day  earlier  than  I  had  intended,  con- 
scious that  I  had  acquitted  myself  rather 
badly.  From  that  time  on,  nothing  could  drag 
me  from  my  chateau,  and  to  Madame  Pointer's 
two  letters  again  inviting  me,  I  replied  eva- 
sively, for  I  knew  I  could  not  keep  my  temper 
should  I  again  encounter  that  adventurer  in 
her  presence. 

It  was  early  in  October  that  I  received  from 
Paris  a  letter  in  which  Madame  Pointer  in- 
formed me  she  was  sailing  the  next  day  for 
America  with  her  mother  and  Mr.  Converse. 
The  exhibition  of  his  paintings  had  been  ar- 
183 


ranged  and  would  be  held  during  the  winter. 
Her  letter  was  enthusiastic  in  its  prophecies 
of  his  success,  and  at  the  end  was  a  word  of 
farewell  that  deeply  touched  me. 

"  Somehow,  this  time  my  going  seems  a  most 
serious  undertaking,"  she  wrote.  "  I  feel  in 
quitting  Paris,  more  than  I  have  ever  felt  be- 
fore, that  I  am  leaving  behind  good  friends 
and  putting  a  wide  ocean  between  us.  But  I 
try  to  banish  regret  by  thinking  of  my  re- 
turn. We  plan  to  be  here  in  the  spring.  I 
am  sorry  not  to  have  seen  you  again  to  say 
good-by  and  to  thank  you  once  more  for  those 
perfect  days  at  your  home.  I  feel  that  I  have 
insufficiently  expressed  my  gratitude  for  all 
you  have  done  to  make  this  visit  to  France  the 
most  enjoyable  I  have  yet  known,  but  take  the 
intention  for  the  deed,  my  good  friend,  and 
know  that  I  shall  not  soon  forget  your  kind- 
ness. Au  revoir  et  merci!  The  Vicomte  de 
Volney  once  told  me  that  expression  was 
perilously  near  slang,  but  I  can  not  bring 
184. 


A  DREARY  WINTER 

myself  to  write  '  Good-by,'   and  I  must  thank 
you." 

There  was  nothing  to  take  me  back  to  Paris, 
so  that  I  remained  in  the  country  until  after 
the  new  year,  shut  up  for  the  most  time  in  the 
house  before  a  log  fire,  for  it  was  cold  and 
rainy.  I  never  remember  such  a  winter. 
Paris,  when  at  last  I  returned  to  it,  was  as 
gray  as  a  monk's  cowl.  It  rained  or  snowed 
nearly  every  day,  more  snow  than  I  can  re- 
call since  the  winters  of  my  boyhood  when  it 
seemed  there  was  always  snow.  The  sun  shone 
rarely,  and  if  it  peeped  for  a  moment  from 
between  the  gray  curtains  people  looked  at  it 
in  wonder.  I  rarely  went  farther  from  my 
home  than  the  quais,  where  I  would  talk  with 
the  shivering  old  bouquinistes  who  stood  in 
front  of  their  book-stalls  like  starved  birds, 
waiting  before  their  cages  for  some  one  to 
come  and  feed  them. 

Bertrand  de  Volney  astonished  me  by  going 
to  America.     He  would  have  had  me  go  with 
185 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

him  but  the  journey  was  too  long.  He  wished 
to  see  the  exhibition  of  Bruce  Converse,  and  he 
wrote  me  long  letters  of  the  success  that  the 
pictures  were  having,  sending  me  clippings 
from  the  newspapers  with  praise  that  would 
have  been  enough  to  turn  Converse's  head.  He 
was  being  hailed  as  the  greatest  of  American 
painters.  Indeed,  echoes  of  Converse's  success 
reached  me  through  the  Figaro,  the  Herald  and 
through  a  long  appreciative  article  in  the  Revue 
des  Arts.  I  had  several  letters,  too,  from  Ma- 
dame Pointer,  recounting  the  same  things  and 
giving  me  entertaining  details  of  her  life  in 
America.  She  wrote  most  interesting  letters. 
And  then,  just  as  the  long  winter  was  at  its 
end,  and  a  belated  spring  was  turning  the  world 
green  again,  came  the  joyous  news  that  they 
were  returning  to  Paris. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

GOSSIP   ABOUT   A   NEW   PRIMA  DONNA   STIRS   EVERY 
ONE    EXCEPT    SIGNOR    TONNELLI 

ELEANOR  MOORE  —  our  Eleanor  —  was 
to  make  her  debut  at  a  great  gala  evening 
at  the  Opera,  and  before  a  visiting  sovereign, 
during  the  Grande  Semaine. 

Only  the  magician  Tonnelli  could  have 
brought  such  a  thing  to  pass.  Only  he,  who 
moved  with  such  quickness  and  sureness,  could 
have  decided  and  made  the  others  decide  to 
trust  the  success  of  so  important  an  event  to  a 
young  girl  who  had  never  sung  in  public  be- 
fore. Ah,  but  had  she  not?  The  truth  came 
out  about  that  much  later,  but  then  it  was 
Eleanor's  secret,  Eleanor's  and  Signer  Ton- 
nelli's,  and,  of  course,  Mrs.  Crackenby's;  only 
187 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

they  knew  that,  under  another  name,  she  had 
sung  in  the  opera-houses  of  Madrid  and  Rome 
and  Milan,  yes,  even  that  very  part  of  Juliette 
which  she  was  to  sing  before  the  king. 

You  who  know  the  self-satisfied  critics  of 
Paris  can  imagine  how  hostile  they  were  when 
it  was  announced  that,  without  so  much  as  con- 
sulting them,  an  unknown  singer  had  been 
chosen.  It  was  not  to  be  permitted.  They 
would  have  torn  her  to  little  pieces  with  their 
sharp  pens.  Was  she  Italian?  Was  she  Span- 
ish ?  Was  she  "  one  of  those  Americans  ?  " 
No  one  knew.  That  was  the  very  trouble. 
She  was  unknown.  The  enraged  critics  at- 
tacked the  management  of  the  Opera,  and  each 
critic  having  in  mind  the  prima  donna  he  would 
have  preferred  for  such  an  honor,  waged  a 
warfare  that  extended  at  last  to  the  poli- 
ticians, who,  alas,  so  often  take  part  in  the 
affairs  of  our  unhappy  Opera.  They  said  one 
thing  was  certain:  the  new  singer  was  not 
French,  and  the  occasion  demanded  that  the 
188 


A  NEW  PRIMA  DONNA 

king  should  be  entertained  not  only  by  a  French 
priraa  donna  but  by  the  greatest  prima  donna 
France  could  offer.  The  king  was  known  all 
over  Europe  as  a  patron  of  music ;  if  the  gala 
night  were  a  failure  he  would  cherish  a  just  re- 
sentment, yes,  he  would  quite  properly  be  of- 
fended, and  the  consequences  might  be  serious, 
for  delicate  questions  were  pending  with  the 
government  of  that  sovereign ;  France  might 
suffer. 

It  was  thus  they  argued,  and  one  polemist 
was  so  scurrilous  in  his  attacks  upon  Eleanor 
that  I  was  on  the  point  of  sending  my  witnesses 
to  the  offender,  but  the  Vicomte  de  Volney  got 
ahead  of  me  and  neatly  ran  his  sword  through 
the  scribbler's  right  arm,  so  that  he  did  not 
write  with  much  comfort  for  a  long  time  after. 

Opposed  to  all  the  politicians  and  the  critics, 
was  little  Signor  Tonnelli,  and  little  Signer 
Tonnelli  was  very  happy.  The  critics  angrily 
demanded  of  him  information  concerning  his 
protegee,  but,  smiling,  he  refused.  "  She  is 
189 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

the  mos'  wonderful  singer  of  to-day.  Ton- 
nelli  tell  you  so.  You  will  yourself  say  so." 
That  is  all  he  would  say  to  them.  They  asked 
for  more.  "Is  it  not  enough?"  he  inquired, 
still  smiling. 

The  directors  of  the  Opera  hid  behind  Ton- 
nelli.  They  would  never  have  admitted  it,  but 
it  was  true  that  he  could  have  taken  away  from 
them  their  best  singers.  They  did  not  tell  this, 
but  said  they  trusted  to  the  judgment  of  Signor 
Tonnelli,  whose  fame  as  an  impresario  was 
known  even  to  the  king  himself. 

Poor  Eleanor !  During  all  this  time  she  was 
forced  to  hide  herself.  I  received  a  note  from 
her  that  had  been  sent  from  Saint-Germain.  I 
went  to  see  her  at  once.  She  was  in  a  villa 
overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Seine.  It  was 
Mrs.  Crackenby  who  betrayed  the  most  emo- 
tion. 

"  I  am  expecting  every  day  to  find  the  French 
army  at  the  gate,"  she  avowed. 

Eleanor  was  changed.  I  can  not  tell  you 
190 


A  NEW  PRIMA  DONNA 

how  except  that  some  of  that  boyishness  seemed 
to  have  departed.  She  was  exceedingly  calm. 
The  storming  of  the  critics,  the  curiosity  of 
the  public  seemed  not  to  affect  her. 

"  Signor  Tonnelli  tells  us  but  little,"  she 
explained,  "  and  Aunt  Ella  does  not  dare  to 
grapple  with  the  French  newspapers,  but,  not- 
withstanding, we  have  heard  something  of  the 
threats  they  are  making  against  poor  Signor 
Tonnelli.  It  would  be  terrible  if  he  were  wor- 
ried by  them,  but  he  does  not  mind  them  at  all." 

She  did  not  appear  sad,  but  the  gaiety  that 
was  formerly  in  her  smile  was  no  longer  there, 
and  though  she  was  a  little  slenderer  and  that 
made  her  seem  even  younger,  in  her  conversa- 
tion and  in  her  conduct  she  appeared  con- 
siderably older  than  when  she  went  away. 
With  no  trace  of  embarrassment  she  asked 
about  Bruce  Converse.  He  was  in  Paris,  she 
had  heard.  How  was  he  doing?  She  had 
been  told  that  he  had  had  great  success  in 
America ;  she  had  received  several  letters  from 
191 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

him  while  he  was  there,  and  she  had  read  some 
of  the  highly  laudatory  notices  of  the  critics 
in  regard  to  his  work  exhibited  in  the  Old 
Salon  in  the  spring. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  give  him  your 
address?  "  I  asked,  with  the  intention  of  dis- 
covering if  this  frankness  were  indifference,  or 
merely  the  concealment  of  a  deep  interest. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  so  quickly  that  she 
blushed  in  trying  to  regain  her  former  attitude 
of  tranquillity.  "  I  think  he  has  it  already," 
she  confessed.  "  I  wrote  him  from  Italy  that 
this  villa  had  been  taken  for  us,  but  he  must  be 
very  busy.  Besides,  I  have  not  the  time  my- 
self to  see  many  friends,  for  I  must  work  hard 
every  day,  and  when  I  am  not  working  I  must 
rest.  Signor  Tdnnelli  makes  me  follow  a  very 
strict  regime.  Really,  I  am  a  prisoner  in  a 
cage." 

"  And  Bertrand  de  Volney?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  must  see  'Is  'Ighness."  She  smiled 
at  the  old  name  that  hardly  any  one  used  now. 
192 


A  NEW  PRIMA  DONNA 

I  had  not  heard  it  for  nearly  a  year  and  had 
almost  forgotten  it.  "  I  intended  to  ask  you 
to  beg  him  to  come  out  here  to  see  me." 

"And   Madame   Pointer?"   I   suggested. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Not  yet.  After  my 
debut.  You  will  explain  to  her,  will  you  not? 
She  will  understand.  I  really  would  prefer 
to  wait  until  afterward." 

Now  there  was  something  in  all  this  that 
eluded  me,  that  baffled  my  desire  to  analyze  it, 
and  yet  it  left  me  far  from  convinced  that 
Eleanor  Moore  was  as  tranquil  as  she  ap- 
peared. My  conscience  troubled  me,  and 
when  Bertrand  had  been  to  see  her  I  went  to 
him  to  unburden  my  mind. 

"  See  here,  Bertrand,"  I  began  at  once, 
"  now  that  you  have  seen  her,  do  you  think 
that  she  Is  still  in  love  ?  " 

"  Do  women  unhappily  in  love,  talk  so  freely 
of  him  who  has  caused  their  suffering?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  have  known  women,"  I  answered,  "  and, 
193 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

indeed,  you  have  also,  undoubtedly,  who  forced 
themselves  to  face  boldly  their  chagrin,  and 
who  would  not  let  themselves  hide  the  subject 
that  was  painful  to  them.  I  have  known  other 
women  who  fed  upon  their  martyrdom,  as  it 
were,  voluntarily  turning  the  knife  in  the 
wound." 

De  Volney  smiled  confidently.  He  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  stood  up  before  me. 
"  Let  your  conscience  rest  quietly,  Florimond. 
If  Miss  Moore  is  in  love,  it  is  with  an  idea, 
not  with  Bruce  Converse,  for  the  Bruce  Con- 
verse of  the  studio  in  the  Rue  d'Assas  whom  she 
knew  hardly  exists  any  more.  It  was  another 
Bruce  Converse  who  came  back  from  America. 
If  you  are  not  convinced  I  am  right,  you 
should  go  to  see  him ;  it  is  really  your  duty  to 
go,  for  you  have  not  called  upon  him  since  he 
returned." 

It  was  true.  I  had  seen  the  young  painter 
several  times  at  Madame  Pointer's,  and  we  had 
had  dejeuner  together — Converse,  Bertrand 
194. 


A  NEW  PRIMA  DONNA 

and  I  —  but  I  had  not  been  to  see  him  in  the 
new  studio  he  had  rented  in  the  Pare  Monceau 
Quarter.  So  I  went.  There  were  two  ladies 
in  the  studio  when  I  arrived.  Converse  pre- 
sented me.  They  were  American  ladies,  evi- 
dently recent  acquaintances,  and  they  talked  of 
his  pictures,  standing  before  them  and  repeat- 
ing those  phrases  persons  who  know  little  of 
art  employ,  phrases  that  seem  to  express  so 
much  and  mean  nothing.  Converse  accepted 
their  flattery  politely,  but  I  think  he  was  glad 
when  they  left.  I  could  see  a  shade  of  relief 
in  his  manner. 

"  Prospective  purchasers,"  he  explained, 
with  just  a  touch  of  apology  in  his  intonation. 
He  was  wearing  his  painter's  blouse,  and  once 
we  were  alone,  he  took  up  his  palette  and 
brushes  again  and  resumed  his  painting  where 
he  had  been  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  his 
visitors. 

"  You  don't  mind  my  going  on  working? 
Sit  here  where  you  can  see  it.  How  do  you 
195 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

like  it?  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  it.  I  can 
listen  and  talk  and  paint,  too." 

We  talked  of  many  things.  Yes,  De  Volney 
was  right,  as  he  nearly  always  was.  Bruce 
Converse  had  changed.  He  had  grown  very 
sure  of  himself.  He  knew  quite  well  now  what 
he  wanted  to  do  and  he  intended  to  do  it ;  there 
was  no  troubling  question  of  possible  failure. 
Purposely,  I  brought  the  name  of  Eleanor  into 
our  conversation,  mentioning  that  I  had  paid 
her  a  visit.  Converse  stopped  his  painting 
suddenly. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Is  she  here  ? 
I  got  a  letter  from  her  from  Italy  saying  that 
she  and  her  aunt  were  to  arrive  in  a  fortnight 
to  take  a  villa  somewhere  —  somewhere  — 
where  was  it?  "  He  searched  his  memory.  I 
did  not  aid  him.  He  laid  aside  his  palette  and 
began  rummaging  in  an  inlaid  mahogany  (desk 
that  went  very  well  with  the  luxuriousness  of 
the  new  studio.  "  Ah,  here  it  is."  He  glanced 
at  the  date.  "  May  twenty-eighth ;  what  day 
196 


A  NEW  PRIMA  DONNA 

is  it  now?  June  twentieth.  By  Jove!  I  had 
no  idea  It  had  been  so  long.  How  time  flies 
when  one  is  busy !  "  He  was  reading  the  letter. 
"  Ah !  l  Aunt  Ella  and  I  have  taken  a  villa  in 
Saint-Germain.  We  expect  to  be  there  in  two 
weeks  or  less.'  Here  is  the  address.  I  must 
go  to  see  them  at  once.  I  had  no  idea  they 
had  arrived." 

He  did  in  fact  go,  not  the  next  day,  but  the 
clay  after,  but  I  learned  that  he  had  sacrificed 
his  time  to  small  purpose,  for  at  the  end  of  the 
long  journey  he  found  only  Mrs.  Crackenby. 
Eleanor  was  not  at  home. 

"  Tempora  mutantur  et  nos  mutamur  in 
ttlis  '*  is  one  of  the  oldest  and  perhaps  the  truest 
of  proverbs.  Fortunate  are  we  if,  even  after 
the  lapse  of  a  short  time,  we  can  find  our 
friends  and  circumstances  the  same  as  when 
they  so  delighted  us.  I  had  looked  forward  to 
another  summer  of  pleasant,  congenial,  amusing 
company  such  as  the  last  summer  had  been,  but 
it  was  quite  different.  Converse  and  Eleanor 
197 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

were  not  the  only  ones  who  had  changed.  Even 
Mr.  Sammy  Potts  and  Mr.  Johnny  Judd  and 
Mr.  Amos  Tuttle  showed  the  marks  of  the  year 
that  had  passed.  They  were  no  longer  "  af- 
flicted with  too  much  Trilby  " ;  their  costumes 
had  become  almost  like  the  costumes  of  other 
mortals ;  Tuttle  had  exhibited  a  very  successful 
picture  in  the  Salon  des  Beaux  Arts ;  Judd  had 
been  no  less  successful  with  a  painting  of  the 
sea  at  Concarneau  which  had  won  him  a  third 
medal  in  the  Old  Salon;  Mi4.  Sammy  Potts  was 
an  out-and-out  "  Indcpendant  "  and  retained 
in  his  manner  of  dress  a  reminiscence  of  former 
eccentricity,  but  he  was  still  very  young  and 
it  was  more  than  probable  that  he  would  change 
with  time  as  the  others  had  changed.  Thus, 
the  three  friends  who  had  bound  themselves  with 
an  oath  never  to  part  company  had  gone  their 
separate  ways  in  the  broad  field  of  art.  It  was 
the  way  of  life. 

Madame  Pointer  had  not  changed,  but  cir- 
cumstances had  changed  around  her.     She  was 
198 


A  NEW  PRIMA  DONNA 

the  same  supremely  lovely  person  she  had  al- 
ways been :  indeed,  I  think  she  was  one  of  those 
rare  beings  who  approach  so  close  to  perfec- 
tion that  they  attain  something  of  that  un- 
changeableness  we  associate  with  unworldly 
things.  No,  she  had  not  changed,  but  her 
occupations  and  interests  were  no  longer  ex- 
actly the  same.  She  had  taken  a  place  in  town, 
a  sunny  inviting  apartment  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Avenue  du  Bois,  the  first  house  to  the  left, 
and  there  I  often  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
her  and  her  mother,  Mrs.  Worthing,  who  was 
again  with  her ;  but  there  was  no  longer  a  plot 
on  foot  to  unite  our  interests  or  to  render  an 
excuse  for  very  frequent  visits.  There  was  no 
plot  because  there  was  no  longer  any  need 
for  plotting.  All  of  us,  I  think,  felt  that  our 
part  had  been  done  and  well  done.  Not  that 
she  was  any  the  less  interested  in  the  careers 
of  Bruce  Converse  and  Eleanor;  I  believe  she 
was  even  more  interested,  but  they  were  both 
now  so  far  advanced  on  the  road  to  success 
199 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

that  we  were  no  longer  in  a  position  to  help 
them. 

"  How  splendidly  it  has  turned  out !  "  Ma- 
dame Pointer  said  to  me  on  one  occasion  when 
we  were  alone.  "  It  was  the  Vicomte  de  Vol- 
ney's  plot,  of  course,  but  I  think  we  all  have 
reason  to  feel  pleased  and  proud." 

She  had  many  friends  in  the  city,  and  was 
occupied  a  great  deal  with  them,  but  she  had 
by  no  means  forgotten  her  friends  of  the  sum- 
mer before.  With  characteristic  loyalty,  she 
had  planned  a  reunion  of  those  friends  on  the 
evening  Eleanor  would  make  her  debut  at  the 
Opera.  She  had  engaged  three  loges,  and  we 
gained  much  pleasure  in  going  over  the  list  of 
those  she  wished  to  be  her  guests. 

"  You  must  look  up  those  three  interesting 
boys  from  the  Latin  Quarter,"  she  said  to  me. 
"  It  would  not  do  for  them  not  to  be  there, 
and  I  have  written  Spaulding  Knapp,  urging 
him  to  leave  his  business  and  come  over.  He 
never  disappoints  me,  so  we  can  count  on 
200 


A  NEW  PRIMA  DONNA 

him.  Mr.  Converse  will  be  with  us,  of  course, 
and  you  and  the  Vicomte  de  Volney ;  and  I  have 
written  to  Signer  Tonnelli,  or  rather  I  got  the 
Vicomte  de  Volney  to  write,  asking  him  and 
Miss  Moore  and  her  aunt  to  join  us  after  her 
part  of  the  performance.  It  will  be  a  real 
reunion." 

You  see,  she  had  not  changed.  She  was 
always  thinking  of  how  to  give  pleasure  to 
others,  inspired  by  unselfishness  and  charity, 
two  of  the  noblest  virtues  a  woman  can  possess. 

It  was  this  quality  of  charity  that  was  im- 
posed upon  by  that  miserable  Mirabelle. 
Madame  Pointer,  who  would  not  have  wounded 
the  feelings  of  any  one,  continued  to  receive 
him,  and  presuming  upon  this,  he  had  squirmed 
himself  into  a  position  of  apparent  friendship 
with  her,  calling  at  her  home  oftener  than  ever. 
I  had  said  all  that  I  could  say  on  the  subject, 
but  that  this  scheming  ingratiating  snake  of  a 
man  was  allowed  to  crawl  into  her  saintly  pres- 
ence enraged  me.  I  determined  not  to  speak  to 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Bertrand  about  it,  for  he  would  have  been  quick 
to  take  the  matter  into  his  own  hands,  but  I 
decided  to  find  a  way  in  which  to  rid  her  of  his 
attentions.  The  opportunity  came  in  good 
season. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN   WHICH   SWORDS  ARE   CROSSED 

IT  was  at  Auteuil  on  the  day  of  the  Prix  des 
Drags.  I  had  desired  to  escort  Madame 
Pointer  to  witness  this  race,  which  to  my  mind 
is  the  most  delightful  of  all  our  races,  but  I 
learned  with  regret  that  she  was  already  en- 
gaged for  the  day.  I  was  standing  with  Ber- 
trand  and  another  friend,  the  Marquis  de  Ville- 
just,  watching  the  brilliant  scene,  regarding 
with  interest  the  many  mail  coaches  arrive, 
when  the  four  well-known  grays  of  a  very 
wealthy  American  gentleman  swung  into  the 
field  by  us.  On  the  second  seat  was  Madame 
Pointer,  looking  more  beautiful  than  I  had  ever 
seen  her.  By  her  side  was  that  insupportable 
Due  de  Mirabelle. 

203 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Madame  Pointer  recognized  us  and  bowed, 
and  we  lifted  our  hats,  but  I  turned  away 
quickly,  for  that  Mirabelle  was  bowing,  top, 
and  smiling  with  incredible  familiarity.  The 
knowledge  that  it  was  this  upstart  who  had 
robbed  me  of  the  pleasure  of  showing  our  Prix 
des  Drags  to  Madame  Pointer  was  more  than 
I  could  endure  tranquilly.  I  was  still  in  this 
mood  when  the  man  himself,  with  his  unfailing 
effrontery,  appeared  before  me  smiling  trium- 
phantly. 

"  I  say,  my  dear  Prince,"  he  began,  with  an 
affected  drawl,  "  our  good  friend,  Madame 
Pointer,  tells  me  this  wonderful  new  singer  we 
are  to  hear  at  the  Opera  to-morrow  night  and 
of  whom  all  Paris  is  talking  is  a  great  friend 
of  yours,  indeed,  something  of  a  protegee.  Do 
tell  us  about  her  —  unless  "  —  he  paused, 
feigning  an  embarrassment  foreign  to  his  char- 
acter • — "  unless  I  am  asking  something  in- 
discreet." 

His  familiarity,  the  public  proclamation  of 
204 


SWORDS  ARE  CROSSED 

Madame  Pointer  as  his  friend,  and  the  insinua- 
tion of  his  last  words,  sent  a  red-hot  iron  of 
indignation  through  me.  "  Monsieur  de  Mira- 
belle  " —  and  I  regarded  him  with  cold  con- 
tempt, declining  as  I  had  always  done  to  accord 
him  the  title  he  assumed  — "  if  the  charity  of 
American  ladies  causes  them  to  tolerate  your 
insolence,  it  is  not  so  with  gentlemen  of  France. 
There  can  be  no  question  concerning  my  friends 
that  I  wish  to  discuss  with  you." 

I  must  confess  the  adventurer  played  his 
game  with  a  high  hand.  He  drew  himself  up 
to  his  full  stature.  "  Perhaps  a  discussion  of 
another  nature,  where  our  steel  can  speak  a 
common  language,  would  be  more  agreeable  to 
Monsieur  de  Saint-Sauveur.  You  shall  not 
lack  your  opportunity  to  decide." 

Lifting  his  hat  ceremoniously  to  those  with 
me,  he  left  us,  and  as  if  to  add  to  his  affront, 
was  soon  again  on  the  coach  talking  gaily  to 
Madame  Pointer.  I  made  no  doubt  I  should 
soon  receive  his  seconds,  and  I  requested  Ber- 
205 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

trand  and  the  Marquis  de  Villejust  to  act  for 
me,  urging  them  to  expedite  the  affair  as  much 
as  possible,  for,  as  Bertrand  was  aware,  I 
wished  the  matter,  which  was  sure  to  get  out, 
to  be  settled  before  Eleanor's  debut  the  next 
evening.  It  was  arranged  that  afternoon  that 
we  should  meet  early  the  next  morning  on  the 
property  of  the  Marquis  de  Villejust  in  the 
Vallee  de  Chevreuse. 

The  sun  had  just  risen  when  I  rode  away 
from  my  home  with  the  Vicomte  de  Volney. 
Old  Gaspard  suspected  what  was  up,  I  am 
sure,  for  he  was  very  nervous  and  more  than 
usually  solemn. 

"  God  guard  my  master,"  he  said  as  we  drove 
off. 

Mirabelle  was  on  the  ground  when  we  ar- 
rived. We  lost  no  time  in  removing  our  coats 
for  the  encounter  at  arms.  When  I  saw  him 
standing  there,  still  insolent  in  his  self-pos- 
session, I  determined  that  I  would  use  my  skill 
to  inflict  upon  him  such  a  humiliation  as  would 
206 


SWORDS  ARE  CROSSED 

take  from  him  some  of  this  assurance.  From 
the  time  I  was  able  to  handle  a  rapier  I  had 
been  devoted  to  the  practise  of  Vescrime,  and 
confident  of  my  superiority  over  this  upstart, 
I  felt  certain  that,  once  we  crossed  swords  and 
he  felt  himself  at  my  mercy,  his  attitude  of 
arrogance  and  bluff  would  disappear  and  he 
would  show  himself  the  craven. 

No  sooner  had  the  direct eur  de  combat 
placed  us  at  the  regulation  distance  and  re- 
leased our  swords  with  "  Allez,  Messieurs"  than 
I  advanced  toward  my  adversary  with  a  violent 
twist  in  seconde.  I  expected  that  Mirabelle 
would  at  once  fall  back,  which  is  what  I  wished, 
for  I  did  not  desire  to  wound  him  until  after 
I  had  humiliated  him  by  demonstrating  how 
completely  I  was  his  master;  but,  contrary  to 
what  I  had  planned,  he  very  neatly  avoided  my 
blade,  by  an  instinctive  movement,  and  re- 
mained firmly  in  his  place.  The  point  of  his 
sword  entered  in  my  right  forearm. 

Immediately  came  the  cry  of  **  Halte!  "  from 
207 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

tlie  ^directeur  de  combat,  and  the  surgeons 
sprang  forward  to  examine  my  wound.  It  was 
a  long  gash ;  the  blade  had  penetrated  deeply, 
but  by  a  lucky  chance  the  artery  had  not  been 
touched.  The  surgeons  were  for  declaring  the 
encounter  at  an  end,  asserting  that  my  wound 
placed  me  in  a  state  of  inferiority,  but  I  in- 
sisted upon  proceeding.  I  had  exchanged  a 
few  words  with  De  Volney,  and  he  seconded  my 
desire,  for  he  knew  as  well  as  I  did  that  I  had 
received  my  wound  through  my  own  impru- 
dence. 

When  once  again  I  faced  Mirabelle  I  was 
more  cautious,  for  I  realized  that  I  had  done 
him,  at  least,  the  injustice  of  supposing  he 
knew  nothing  of  swordsmanship.  I  must  con- 
fess this  adventurer  carried  things  off  well  on 
the  field.  His  attitude  was  most  correct,  and 
I  was  aware  that,  whatever  his  shortcomings,  I 
had  before  me  a  practised  escrimeur,  calm, 
vigorous  and  courageous.  His  coolness  ex- 
cited my  admiration,  but  the  thought  came  to 
208 


SWORDS  ARE  CROSSED 

me  that  undoubtedly  it  was  this  very  quality 
that  had  enabled  him  to  win  his  way  into 
Madame  Pointer's  graces,  and  the  reflection 
fired  my  hate  with  increased  ardor. 

We  fell  on  guard  again  and  I  waited  for  his 
attack,  sure  that  his  first  success  would  lead 
him  to  take  the  offensive.  I  had  judged 
rightly,  for  indeed  he  marched  directly  on  me. 
I  waited  —  waited  for  that  moment  I  knew 
would  come  when  his  arm  would  shoot  out  to 
its  full  length.  In  an  instant  the  thing  was 
done.  Out  shot  his  arm.  As  soon  as  his  blade 
was  well  within  reach  of  mine  I  made  a  rapid 
beat  in  tierce  and  thrust  straight.  My  sword 
passed  below  his  arm  and  entered  his  breast. 

At  the  cry  of  "  Halte!  "  he  fell  back  and  the 
blood  left  his  face.  It  was  a  serious  wound  I 
had  given  him.  He  tried  to  hold  himself  erect 
as  the  surgeons  made  their  examination,  but  the 
pain  was  too  great,  and  he  tottered  and  would 
have  fallen,  had  not  his  seconds  supported  him. 

Thus  ended  the  affair.  My  own  wound  was 
209 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

bleeding  profusely.  The  surgeons  came  to 
dress  it  before  I  departed.  They  held  a  con- 
sultation apart,  and  came  forward  as  I  was 
leaving  to  caution  me  to  keep  to  my  bed  for 
several  days,  as  they  feared  that  any  excite- 
ment or  exposure  might  induce  a  fever.  It 
was  most  annoying.  I  was  beside  myself  with 
vexation,  for  Eleanor  was  to  sing  that  night  at 
the  Opera  and  all  the  world  would  be  there. 

Before  Bertrand  and  I  reached  my  home,  I 
was  surprised  to  discover  that  my  arm  was  giv- 
ing me  a  good  deal  of  pain.  He  left  me  in 
charge  of  Gaspard,  who  was  ridiculously  so- 
licitous, while  he  went  in  person  to  send  my  phy- 
sician. I  was  not  sorry  to  lie  down  for  a  time, 
and  I  did  not  protest  when  the  doctor  came 
and  administered  an  opiate  which  sent  me 
quickly  into  a  disturbed  slumber.  It  seemed  to 
me  I  had  been  sleeping  only  a  moment  when  I 
was  awakened  and  saw  Gaspard  peeping  in  at 
the  door  and  trying  to  be  as  quiet  as  a  cat. 

"  Can't  you  keep  out  of  here,  you  old  grand- 
210 


SWORDS  ARE  CROSSED 

mother?  "  I  exclaimed,  amused  in  spite  of  my- 
self. 

"  Pardon  —  pardon"  he  murmured,  ap- 
proaching and  holding  forth  a  letter. 

Did  I  really  in  the  half-light  of  my  shaded 
chamber  recognize  that  handwriting,  or  was  it 
the  spirit  that  seemed  to  emanate  from  that 
which  had  been  in  her  presence  that  made  me 
know  the  letter  was  from  Madame  Pointer? 

"  Throw  back  the  curtains,"  I  commanded, 
and  eagerly  with  my  free  hand  tore  open  the 
envelope. 

I  may  not  reveal  to  you  the  sentiments  she 
expressed  about  myself  that  were  far  beyond  all 
my  possible  deserving.  De  Volney  had  told 
her  of  the  duel  and  its  outcome.  She  had  wept 
when  she  thought  that  through  her  my  life  had 
been  exposed  to  danger;  she  knew  that  what 
had  been  done  had  been  solely  to  protect  her, 
and  she  blamed  herself  that  she  had  not  heeded 
my  warnings.  But  not  until  now  had  she  real- 
ized that  my  dislike  of  Mirabelle  was  more  than 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

temperamental ;  she  would  never  see  him  again. 

My  face  must  have  betrayed  the  pleasure  her 
letter  gave  me,  for  I  looked  up  to  see  Gaspard, 
whose  presence  I  had  forgotten,  regarding  me, 
his  face  wreathed  with  smiles.  I  smiled  in  turn, 
for  never  before  had  he  presented  me  a  letter 
from  Madame  Pointer  with  such  a  cheerful 
countenance. 

"  Go  to  Madame  Pointer's  house  at  once,"  I 
commanded.  "  Make  to  her  my  profound  ex- 
cuses that  my  trifling  accident  prevents  me 
from  writing,  but  say  that,  without  fail,  I  shall 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  at  the  Opera 
to-night." 

"  Mais  —  m-m-mais,"  he  began,  stammering 
as  he  tried  to  make  some  observation. 

"  Go,"  I  ordered  sternly,  "  and  lose  no  time." 


CHAPTER  XV 

AT    THE    OPEEA 

WITH  difficulty,  I  dressed  that  evening, 
inwardly  chafing  that  I  must  appear  at 
the  Opera  with  my  arm  en  ccharpe.  I  was  late 
in  arriving,  but  the  gala  program  had  been 
arranged  to  have  the  great  act  from  Samson 
and  Delilah  precede  Eleanor's  debut  in  the  first 
act  of  Romeo  et  Juliette,  and  the  Russian 
dancers,  who  were  then  so  much  in  favor,  come 
after  her,  so  I  knew  that,  though  I  was  late,  I 
was  early  enough  for  my  purpose.  Several 
others  were  just  arriving  when  I  mounted  the 
great  marble  stairway,  several  women  in  ex- 
quisite cloaks  accompanied  by  men  in  uniform 
or  displaying  their  decorations.  We  passed 
through  the  lines  of  cuirassiers  en  grande 
tenue,  and  already  I  could  feel  the  excitement 
and  expectancy  in  the  atmosphere. 
213 


An  obsequious  ouvreuse  opened  for  me  the 
door  of  Madame  Pointer's  loge,  and  I  slipped 
in'  with  an  extreme  quietness,  for  that  wonder- 
ful aria  was  being  sung.  Saint-Saens  himself 
was  directing  the  orchestra.  I  could  distin- 
guish his  massive  head  in  the  darkened  theater. 
I  saw  the  silhouettes  of  Madame  Pointer,  De 
Volney  and  Bruce  Converse,  and  could  tell  they 
were  turning  toward  me  in  greeting.  Madame 
Pointer  rose  silently,  and  I  knew  that  she  was 
holding  out  her  hand  to  me.  Awkwardly,  with 
my  left  hand  I  groped  for  hers  until  our  fingers 
touched.  She  allowed  her  hand  to  rest  in  mine 
as  she  led  me  in  the  semi-darkness  to  the  back 
of  the  loge. 

"  Are  you  really  only  slightly  hurt  ?  "  she 
whispered.  "  Was  it  wise  to  venture  here  to- 
night? " 

I  reassured  her.  "  Believe  me,  your  note 
wrought  the  miracle  of  a  cure."  And  it  was 
true ;  the  pain  in  my  arm  was  gone. 

We  continued  to  talk  together  in  a  low  tone 


AT  THE  OPERA 

so  that  our  voices  should  not  disturb  the  others. 
I  felt,  rather  than  observed,  the  intensity  of  her 
emotions  as  she  spoke.  Never,  she  told  me, 
had  she  seen  such  a  brilliant  audience;  it  was 
like  some  wonderful  repetition  generale  for 
which  every  one  had  been  waiting.  The  king 
and  his  suite  and  the  president  of  France  had 
arrived,  and  were  in  the  loge  d'honneur  not  far 
from  us.  All  the  diplomatic  corps  were  pres- 
ent, the  principal  Paris  notabilities  and  many 
visiting  celebrities.  De  Volney  had  pointed 
them  out  to  her.  She  spoke  of  Converse. 

"  His  mood  is  of  the  strangest ;  he  has 
scarcely  spoken,"  she  whispered,  her  voice 
a-quiver  with  apprehension,  which  I  attributed 
to  the  tension  she  was  under.  "  Twice  he  has 
said  he  must  leave,  and  it  has  been  all  I  could 
do  to  persuade  him  to  remain.  He  seems  be- 
side himself  with  excitement,  and  terribly  de- 
pressed." 

I  glanced  toward  the  front  of  the  box.  The 
fine  features  of  Bruce  Converse  were  outlined 
215 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

against  the  light,  but  I  could  gain  no  informa- 
tion from  them.  I  observed,  however,  that  his 
hands  were  not  still,  and  that  he  was  continu- 
ally clasping  and  unclasping  them. 

Madame  Pointer  was  worried.  "  His  mood 
has  communicated  itself  to  me,"  she  confessed. 
"  I  feel  frightfully  uneasy.  I  am  so  glad  you 
have  come.  I  wish  Spaulding  Knapp  were  here, 
too.  He  cabled  me  he  would  come,  but  he  has 
not  arrived." 

The  curtain  was  descending;  the  lights  were 
on,  and  from  all  parts  of  the  house  came  the 
spontaneous  hearty  applause  of  an  audience  in 
good  humor  with  itself.  It  augured  well  for 
Eleanor. 

As  if  unable  longer  to  endure  inaction,  Con- 
verse rose  from  his  place,  and  without  waiting 
to  see  Saint-Saens  and  his  interpreters  bow 
their  acknowledgments  to  those  in  the  royal 
box,  he  left  us,  swinging  out  of  the  loge  without 
even  a  muttered  apology.  I  followed  his  ath- 
letic figure  until  it  passed  out  of  the  door.  I 
216 


AT  THE  OPERA 

looked  at  Madame  Pointer.  "  You  see  ?  "  her 
eyes  seemed  to  say. 

"  Natural  excitement ;  nothing  more,"  I  said 
reassuringly,  but  my  own  mind  was  filled  with 
misgiving. 

"  He  is  merely  feeling  what  we  all  feel  to- 
night ;  only  he  betrays  it  more  than  we,"  said 
De  Volney,  and  he  began  quickly  pointing  out 
to  Madame  Pointer's  attention  celebrities  in 
the  audience  until  he  got  her  interested  in  the 
wonderful  scene  spread  out  before  us.  De  Vol- 
ney, who,  I  believe,  knew  every  one  in  Paris,  was 
still  at  this  occupation  when  the  ouvreuse 
opened  the  door  of  our  loge  and  Mr.  Spaulding 
Knapp  entered.  We  were  of  course  surprised 
to  see  him. 

"  Our  steamer  was  held  up  by  fog,"  he  ex- 
plained as  he  greeted  us  all.  This  surprising 
man  had  engaged  a  special  train  to  bring  him 
to  Paris.  As  I  thought  of  the  commotion  his 
order  must  have  caused  to  the  functionaries  of 
the  government  railroad,  I  laughed  in  spite  of 
217 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

myself.  "  How  very  American !  "  I  could  not 
help  remarking. 

"  The  train  wasn't,  believe  me,"  chuckled 
Mr.  Knapp.  "  If  it  had  been  I  should  have 
arrived  for  the  opening,  but  I  am  glad  I  am  not 
too  late."  He  turned  to  Madame  Pointer. 
"  I  imagine  you  knew,  Leslie,  when  you  sent  for 
me,  that  I  would  not  disappoint  you." 

She  looked  up  at  him  gratefully.  "  You 
have  never  disappointed  me  yet,  Spaulding," 
she  answered  approvingly. 

"  And  never  will,  God  helping  me,"  replied 
this  American  business  man  quite  fervently, 
even  emphatically. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Converse?"  sud- 
denly asked  Mr.  Knapp  of  the  Vicomte  de  Vol- 
ney.  "  I  passed  him  in  the  foyer  and  he  hardly 
spoke  to  me." 

"  Oh,  every  one  is  excited  to-night,"  answered 
Bertrand  carelessly,  but  Madame  Pointer  in- 
formed Mr.  Knapp  of  her  apprehension.  "  I 
really  fear  he  is  not  well.  He  has  twice  threat- 
218 


AT  THE  OPERA 

ened  to  leave.  It  would  be  a  pity  for  him  to 
miss  Eleanor's  debut." 

"  I'll  go  and  get  him,"  announced  Mr.  Knapp, 
departing  immediately  on  his  errand. 

Into  that  vast  amphitheater  directly  below 
and  before  us  and  into  the  loges  on  every  side 
and  above  people  were  returning,  impatient  for 
the  curtain  to  rise  again  and  let  them  behold 
the  new  star.  Men  had  stood  in  the  stalls  and 
gazed  their  full  upon  the  brilliant  company ; 
every  one  had  stared  at  the  king;  acquaint- 
ances and  friends  had  met  in  the  foyer  and 
congratulated  one  another  on  the  good  fortune 
of  being  present  on  such  a  night ;  but  now  they 
wished  the  real  performance  to  begin.  The 
lights  were  down  again  and  the  orchestra  had 
begun  that  brief  overture  before  the  opening 
scene,  when  Mr.  Knapp  returned.  With  him 
was  Converse,  and  they  took  seats  behind  us. 

Silence  had  fallen  upon  the  audience  like  a 
cloak  that  hid  it  from  our  sight.  So  still  was 
it  that  one  could  not  hear  the  breathing  of 
219 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

humanity  or  the  rustling  of  dresses  and  fans ; 
it  was  as  still  as  the  earth  on  a  summer  day 
before  a  storm,  and  through  the  heavy  atmos- 
phere of  the  theater  ran  electric  currents  that 
sent  a  tingling  tremor  through  those  who  si- 
lently waited.  Was  there  to  be  a  storm? 
Would  those  who  had  so  bitterly  criticized 
carry  their  warfare  even  to  this  place?  Were 
they  waiting  there,  in  that  hidden  mass  of  hu- 
manity, ready  to  tear  to  pieces  with  their  cries 
and  hisses  the  soul  of  this  young  untried  girl 
if  she  failed  in  the  slightest,  if  she  uttered 
a  single  false  note?  Ah,  those  who  knew  the 
venom  of  thwarted  critics  and  politicians  were 
aware  that  it  would  be  so. 

Slowly  the  curtain  went  up  and  glasses  were 
leveled  to  get  the  first  glimpse  of  this  Mademoi- 
selle Elenori  none  of  them  had  ever  seen  before. 
In  the  middle  of  the  row  of  singers,  behind  the 
curtain  of  gauze  that  veils  those  who  recite 
the  brief  prologue  of  Romeo  et  Juliette  sat 
Eleanor,  the  masses  of  her  waving  dark  hair 
220 


AT  THE  OPERA 

falling  about  her  shoulders.  So  young  she 
looked,  so  frail,  so  calm  with  the  unquestioning 
trust  of  youth,  her  eyes  wide  open,  gazing  inno- 
cently before  her  —  and  then  the  opening 
chorus : 

Verone  vit  jadis  deux  families  rivales, 
Les  Montagues,  les  Capulets. 

Over  all  was  heard  that  high  soprano,  true 
and  pure  and  fresh,  a  young  girl  singing,  pour- 
ing out  melody  from  an  unsullied  heart;  a 
young  girl  whose  love  must,  by  fate's  unreason- 
ing decree,  end  in  the  tomb,  love  that  came  un- 
sought — 

Qui  virent  naitre  leurs  amours. 

The  chorus  was  ended.  Already  the  house 
was  noisy  with  applause.  Above  the  clapping 
of  hands  came  a  sibilant  hissing,  but  it  was  not 
in  disapproval  of  Eleanor.  It  was  from  those 
who,  with  tears  in  their  eyes  because  of  the 
pathos  of  it  all  and  because  of  their  emotion, 
frowned  upon  others  who  could  break  the  spell 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

with  noisy  demonstration.  As  yet  the  audi- 
ence had  beheld  Eleanor's  heauty  concealed  in 
part  by  that  curtain  of  gauze  —  oh,  the  wise 
cunning  of  Signor  Tonnelli !  —  and  now  they 
were  impatient  for  the  next  scene  when  she 
would  appear  in  the  ballroom  and  they  would 
see  her  in  the  full  brilliant  light.  Even  the 
leader  of  the  orchestra  seemed  anxious  to 
hasten  through  the  opening  bars  of  the  intro- 
duction, for  the  musicians  played  it  much  too 
fast. 

"  It  will  be  a  triumph  for  her ;  she  has  con- 
quered them,"  whispered  Madame  Pointer,  her 
voice  uneven  from  emotion. 

De  Volney  smiled  at  her  excess  of  enthusiasm, 
for  the  prophecy  was  born  of  friendship  and 
Eleanor  had  as  yet  had  no  opportunity.  "  It 
is  too  early,"  he  said.  "  We  must  not  be  too 
sure;  we  must  wait  at  least  until  she  has  sung 
the  waltz." 

"  No,  Leslie,  you  are  right,"  broke  in  that 
astonishing  Mr.  Knapp,  who  had  moved  his 
222 


AT  THE  OPERA 

chair  quite  close  to  Madame  Pointer.  "  The 
girl  has  already  won.  There  is  something  in  an 
audience  that  a  person  can  feel  when  it  is  ready 
to  throw  itself  at  the  feet  of  a  singer.  It's  the 
same  way  in  a  convention,  or  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, during  an  exciting  day.  You  can't 
put  your  hand  on  what  it  is ;  you  can't  describe 
it ;  but  you  can  feel  it,  and  it  is  here  to-night. 
I  tell  you,  the  girl  has  already  won,  and  she 
deserves  it."  Eleanor  was  on  the  stage  again. 
A  distinct  indrawing  of  the  breath  in  pleasur- 
able satisfaction  had  greeted  her  entrance,  and 
over  the  auditorium  ran  a  ripple  of  encouraging 
applause. 

Ecoutez!     Ecoutez! 

C'est  le  son  des  instruments  joyeux. 

No  young  girl,  whose  budding  womanhood 
exhaled  as  a  perfume  the  joy  of  life,  could  have 
more  sweetly  expressed  the  rapture  that  is  born 
of  the  gay  music  of  the  dance.  The  audience 
seemed  to  enter  into  ecstasy.  She  stood  there 
graceful,  animated,  expectant.  With  a  slender 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

un jeweled  hand  she  put  back  the  dark  masses 
of  hair  from  her  shoulders,  exposing  her  white 
rounded  neck,  round  which  was  a  single  strand 
of  pearls.  I  shall  see  her  always  in  my  memory 
thus  standing,  her  marvelous  dress  of  gold- 
embroidered  silken  velvet,  green-white  like  the 
spray  of  the  sea  reflecting  a  shimmer  of  light, 
like  a  cloth  of  gold  seen  beneath  a  wave ;  on  her 
dark  hair  rested  an  embroidered  head-dress 
that  gave  her  the  suggestion  of  boyishness  that 
was  so  lovable. 

When  she  reappeared  with  Gertrude,  the  old 
nurse,  the  teasing  smile  that  played  upon  her 
full  lips  emphasized  this  characteristic.  Yes, 
Tonnelli  was  the  wisest  of  men :  she  was  not  act- 
ing the  part  of  Juliette  —  she  was  Juliette. 
It  was  as  if  she  did  not  realize  that  she  was 
upon  a  stage  and  that  this  was  her  debut  before 
the  world's  severest  critics.  And  then  she 
launched  into  that  wonderful  arietta: 

Je  veux  vivre 

Dans  le  reve  qui  m'enivre. 


AT  THE  OPERA 

It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  hear  many 
Juliettes,  and  I  make  bold  to  say  that  never 
before  or  since  has  Gounod's  wonderful  waltz 
been  so  sung.  In  the  original  key  of  G  in 
which  the  master  wrote  it,  that  high  clear  voice, 
round  and  sweet  as  a  bird's,  fresh  and  pure  and 
new  as  spring-time  with  the  flowers  in  blossom, 
poured  forth  the  melodious  notes  of  the  waltz, 
"  singing,"  as  says  your  great  poet,  Keats, 
"  in  full-throated  ease,"  until  it  seemed  the 
music  one  heard  could  come  from  no  human 
throat,  but  must  be  the  rapturous  expression 
of  some  unembodied  spirit  caroling  its  joy. 
One  thought  of  life  without  death,  of  love  with- 
out parting,  of  gladness  without  sorrow. 

The  song  had  ended,  but  still  its  echo  re- 
mained in  the  jubilant  violins  that  caught  up 
and  repeated  the  rhythmic  refrain.  Upon  the 
throng  was  laid  a  spell  of  silence.  Wondering, 
enrapt,  with  eyes  still  fastened  upon  the  singer, 
the  great  audience  sat  motionless  as  if  fearing 
to  break  the  spell  too  soon  and  lose  one  pre- 
225 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

cious  moment  of  a  sensation  that  could  never 
again  be  experienced.  Not  until  the  last  note 
had  died  away  did  the  applause  come.  Was  it 
one  voice  or  was  it  many  in  unison  that  first 
shouted  that  deep  imperious  "Bravo"?  It 
seemed  to  be  one  commanding  voice.  Then,  as 
if  that  cry  had  been  a  signal  for  which  the 
others  were  waiting,  the  clamor  was  let  loose. 

**  Bravo!  Bravo! "  The  multitude  was 
screaming  its  expression  of  delight.  Unison 
had  fled.  Each  individual  was  striving  to  be 
heard. 

"  Bravo!  Bravo!  Bravo!  "  The  shrill  voices 
of  women  mingled  with  the  deep  tones  of  men, 
and  their  higher  notes  of  frantic  acclaim  were 
borne  aloft,  the  sound  vibrating  against  the 
lofty  painted  dome. 

"  Bravo!  Bravo!  Elenori ! "  The  chorus 
took  up  her  name,  the  name  Tonnelli  had  given 
her.  Men  had  leaped  to  their  feet  and  were 
wildly  waving  programs  and  hats.  Like  the 
rolling  of  drums  beating  a  cacophonous  accom- 
226 


AT  THE  OPERA 

paniment  was  the  wild  unmeasured  clapping 
together  of  many  palms.  The  king  was  stand- 
ing with  both  hands  outstretched  in  applause. 

Upon  the  stage  stood  Juliette,  her  lips  trem- 
bling as  bravely  the  boyish  innocent  smile 
struggled  to  overcome  the  tears.  In  my  own 
eyes  was  a  mist  that  blurred  my  sight  of  her 
and  a  hot  hand  seemed  pressed  upon  my  throat. 

The  crowd  had  taken  up  another  cry.  "  Bis! 
Bis!  "  it  was  shouting,  and  in  an  instant  the 
whole  house  was  ringing  with  the  word.  De 
Volney  turned  suddenly  as  if  in  appeal  to  me. 
His  face  was  white,  and  he,  who  was  forever  so 
calm,  was  trembling  with  excitement.  "  No !  " 
he  shouted  in  protest,  making  a  trumpet  of  his 
hands,  his  words  barely  reaching  me  above  the 
tumult.  "  They  can't  mean  to  ask  her  to  sing 
it  again  —  that  song  and  in  that  key !  It  will 
be  too  much  for  her !  It  is  cruel !  " 

For  answer  I  pointed  to  the  clamoring,  un- 
satisfied, excited  throng  below  us.  "  They  will 
not  be  denied,"  I  answered,  but  I  doubt  if  he 
227 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

heard,  for  he  was  leaning  from  the  loge  shout- 
ing to  the  crowd :  "  Non!  Non!  C'est  trop!  " 
I  caught  him  by  the  arm.  He  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  stop  the  flowing  of  the  Seine  when 
it  is  in  flood. 

Eleanor  could  no  longer  keep  back  the  tears. 
That  happiness  which  knows  no  other  full  ex- 
pression had  forced  them  from  their  hiding- 
place  that  they  might  be  witnesses  of  this  mem- 
orable hour.  She  heard  the  insistent  demand 
that  the  song  be  sung  again.  That  demand  of 
"  Bis!  "  had  swept  up  to  her  like  the  notes  of 
trumpets,  and  she  turned  timidly  smiling  to- 
ward the  wings  where  Signer  Tonnelli  was 
standing,  stroking  his  beard  nervously,  with 
his  little  sharp  eyes  dancing  as  he  looked  upon 
his  singer.  He  nodded  to  her  approvingly  and 
waved  his  hand  in  consent  to  the  director  of 
the  orchestra. 

Again  the  violins  took  up  the  strain  and 
Eleanor  was  singing,  and  the  house  was  as 
hushed  and  still  as  if  no  tumult  had  passed  over 
228 


AT  THE  OPERA 

it.  The  storm  had  gone  by,  and  there  was 
calm  again  with  sunshine  and  the  birds  singing 
and  all  the  air  filled  with  melody  as  each  one 
dreamed  his  own  dream  to  the  music  of  that 
crystal,  pure  young  voice.  If  in  my  heart 
there  had  been  fear  for  her  when  she  began, 
it  vanished  as  the  round  full  notes,  clear  and 
high  and  true,  poured  forth  in  a  golden  shower 
as  free  and  unrestrained  as  summer  rain.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  voice  were  not  of  her  or  of  any 
earthly  creature,  but  of  some  divine  being, 
whose  very  soul  was  music  and  who  sang  with- 
out conscious  effort  because  she  had  been 
created  for  singing. 

This  time  the  crowds  did  not  wait  for  the 
concluding  violins.  At  the  last  note  of  the 
singer  men  were  on  their  feet  shouting  as  in  a 
delirium  of  joy.  There  was  no  curbing  them. 
I  expected  to  see  them  rush  upon  the  stage  and 
bear  the  singer  off  in  triumph. 

"Elenori!  Elenori!"  they  shouted.  "Bis! 
Bis! "  The  orchestra  tried  to  play,  and  its 
229 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

music  was  drowned  by  the  cheers  of  the  audi- 
ence. Inconsiderately,  madly,  insistently,  men 
and  women  were  demanding  that  song  again. 
De  Volney,  leaning  from  his  loge,  was  scream- 
ing to  that  maddened  throng  to  be  still,  and  I 
and  others  near  by  joined  in  his  effort.  I 
looked  back  at  Madame  Pointer.  She  sat  with 
her  hands  to  her  face,  weeping,  and  that  amaz- 
ing Mr.  Spaulding  Knapp  stood  by  her,  gazing 
upon  the  crowd,  outwardly  as  calm  as  ever,  but 
his  teeth  were  clenched  hard  together  and  his 
face  was  set.  The  sight  of  Bruce  Converse, 
bending  forward  near  him,  startled  me.  The 
artist's  eyes  were  turned  away  from  the  scene, 
but  I  could  see  that  his  face  was  contorted. 
Even  as  I  looked  I  saw  his  powerful  body 
tremble  as  with  a  convulsion,  and  he  staggered 
out  of  the  door  of  the  loge  almost  as  if  he  might 
fall. 

From  the  wings  out  upon  the  stage  came  Sig- 
ner Tonnelli,  a  strange  little  figure  in  his  black 
coat.     He  held  up   a  hand  for  silence.     Men 
230 


AT  THE  OPERA 

recognized  him  and  ceased  their  clamor  to  hear 
what  he  might  say. 

"  Mesdames  et  messieurs"  he  began  in  that 
quaint  accent  of  his,  a  good-humored  smile  ac- 
companying his  words,  "  the  opera  you  have 
forgot  all  about,  but  he  is  not  finish'.  You 
will  have  the  pleasure  to  hear  Mademoiselle 
Elenori  sing  again.  I  am  only  an  impresario, 
that  is  all,  but  I  should  be  a  verra  bad  impres- 
ario, indeed,  if  I  let  a  young  girl  sing  three 
times  that  arietta  which  your  divine  maestro, 
Gounod,  wrote  in  that  key,  just,  I  think,  to  try 
the  voices  of  singers.  I  am  verra  sure  you 
think  so,  too,  and,  no,  you  will  not  ask  it,  eh?  " 

The  crowd  was  laughing,  brought  back  to 
its  senses.  "  Bravo,  Tonnelli !  "  men  cried  as 
the  little  magician  bowed  and  walked  off  the 
stage,  waving,  when  he  reached  the  wings,  a 
signal  for  the  orchestra  to  begin. 

From  that  time  on,  there  never  was  an  audi- 
ence so  pleased  with  itself.  Really,  it  was 
amusing;  each  one  seemed  to  consider  that  it 
231 


was  he  or  she  who  had  discovered  in  Mademoi- 
selle Elenori  one  of  the  world's  great  singers. 
When  she  sang  that  duet  with  Romeo  it  was  no 
longer  a  Juliette  who  sang  to  them ;  it  was 
their  Juliette.  In  that  exciting  moment,  when 
Juliette  learns  that  the  stranger  who  has  won 
her  heart  is  the  mortal  enemy  of  her  race,  her 
girlish  fright  and  dismay  seemed  less  portrayed 
than  real. 

"La  haine  est  le  berceau  de  cet  amour  fatal," 

she  sang  tremblingly,  and  one  could  see  that 
those  who  listened  were  deeply  troubled  for  her, 
so  completely  had  she  won  them. 

Of  that  scene  which  followed  the  curtain's 
fall  my  unpractised  pen  can  not  write.  It  is  a 
matter  of  the  history  of  the  Opera  of  Paris. 
Perhaps  you  were  there  and  saw  and  heard  it 
all  for  yourself.  Perhaps,  already,  you  have 
seen  through  the  thin  disguise  of  names ;  per- 
haps, indeed,  long  before  this  you  have  recog- 
nized those  whom  I  have  tried  to  veil  with  a 
232 


AT  THE  OPERA 

romancer's  cloak,  for  I  am  but  little  of  an 
artist  and  must  be  content  with  telling  of 
things  as  they  were.  If  you  were  there,  I  know 
well  that  you  have  shared  with  me  that  longing 
to  live  over  again  those  sublime  moments  when 
a  young  girl  stood  before  that  adoring,  madly 
cheering  throng,  the  "  fair  song-conjured 
dream  "  of  the  great  world  of  Paris.  Not  one 
soul  in  all  that  multitude  but  wished  to  testify 
to  the  exquisite  joy  that  she  had  given;  not 
one  person  that  was  not  standing,  proclaiming 
the  name  of  Elenori.  From  the  tiers  of  loges 
leaned  jeweled  women  who  tore  flowers  from 
their  dresses  and  scattered  them  over  the  un- 
heeding shouting  throng,  in  the  effort  to  offer 
the  fragrant  tributes  to  the  object  of  their 
adoration. 

I  saw  the  king  call  to  his  side  an  aide-de- 
camp and  cry  something  in  his  ear,  and  the  man 
immediately  departed. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A    ROYAL    TOKEN    THAT    SEEMS    BUT    PART     OF    A 

SOXG-COXJUHED  DREAM  WHICH  IS  RUDELY 

SHATTERED 

THE  king  had  sent  for  Eleanor.  Like  the 
secret  of  Polichinelle,  or  like  so  many 
state  secrets,  his  majesty  had  no  sooner  given 
the  command  than  it  was  known  apparently  to 
every  one  in  the  house.  During  the  entr'acte 
people  told  it  to  one  another  excitedly  as  they 
promenaded  in  the  foyer  or  visited  in  the  loges. 
Even  Mr.  Potts,  Mr.  Judd  and  Mr.  Tuttle 
heard  of  it,  and  came  running  to  us  with  the 
information  and,  although  it  had  already 
reached  us,  they  must  tell  it  over  again,  enjoy- 
ing the  sensation  of  those  who  bring  startling 
news.  Nothing  else  was  talked  of  —  that  and 
the  sudden  fame  of  Eleanor. 

There   was   more   gazing   than   ever   at   the 
234 


A  ROYAL  TOKEN 

royal  box  when  people  were  once  again  in  their 
places  waiting  for  Nijinski  and  Karsavina  to 
dance  through  that  dream  of  rhythmic  motion, 
"  Le  Spectre  de  la  Rose."  Weber's  haunting 
waltz  had  just  begun  when  Eleanor  entered 
the  presence  of  the  king,  with  Signor  Tonnelli 
standing  just  behind  her.  Nijinski,  alone, 
that  marvelous  creature  who,  upon  the  scene, 
seems  like  a  pagan  god,  a  bounding  faun,  Ni- 
jinski, alone,  could  have  held  the  attention  of 
that  audience  so  that  only  a  few  saw  the  king 
and  the  president  rise  and  salute,  in  turn,  the 
one  who  so  lately  had  been  Juliette  and  who 
still  seemed  to  be  the  heroine  she  had  so  well 
portrayed. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  the  king,  as  he  stood 
before  her  with  inclined  head,  "  for  a  singer 
the  only  reward  is  the  applause  of  those  she  de- 
lights. Anything  else  placed  beside  the  public 
acclamation  you  have  just  received  must  ap- 
pear almost  meaningless,  and  yet  I  hope  that 
I  may  be  allowed  to  testify  to  the  great  joy 
235 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

you  have  given."  He  turned  to  his  aide-de- 
camp and  unpinned  from  that  officer's  breast  a 
glittering  jeweled  decoration.  His  majesty 
spoke  again  with  an  added  solemnity.  "  A 
great  artist  is  an  honor  to  all  mankind.  In  the 
name  of  my  people  I  create  you  an  officer  of  the 
order  of  the  Blessed  Sainte  Cecile  of  holy 
memory." 

No  greater  honor  comes  to  a  musician  than 
to  wear  the  cross  of  Sainte  Cecile  and  Eleanor 
knelt  gracefully  as  the  king  bent  over  and 
fastened  the  insignia  on  her  dress.  With  a 
gentle  hand  he  pinned  the  jeweled  cross  just 
over  her  heart,  and  then,  bending  still  lower, 
the  sovereign  gravely,  reverently,  bestowed  the 
accolade. 

When  Eleanor  rose,  her  blue  eyes  were  glis- 
tening and  her  heart  was  too  crowded  with  emo- 
tion for  her  to  speak,  but  the  wise  king,  looking 
upon  her,  knew  what  was  in  her  thought.  Si- 
lence is  often  the  highest  expression  of  appre- 
ciation. 

236 


A  ROYAL  TOKEN 

Nor  was  Signer  Tonnelli  forgotten  by  his 
majesty.  The  king  congratulated  him  on  the 
success  of  the  evening,  and  said  that  his  fame, 
which  was  already  great,  would  henceforth  be 
tenfold  greater  than  it  had  ever  been. 

"  Your  majesty's  gracious  compliment  adds 
to  my  happiness,"  answered  the  impresario, 
"  and  I  was  already  verra  happy  over  Made- 
moiselle Elenori's  exquisite  performance." 

The  king  was  much  amused  by  Signor  Ton- 
nelli and  very  pleased  with  the  little  impresario. 

"  I  shall  expect  you  some  day  to  bring  Made- 
moiselle Elenori  to  my  palace  that  she  may  sing 
for  me  there  and  that  my  people  may  have  the 
joy  of  hearing  her.  On  that  day  I  shall  show 
you,  Signor  Tonnelli,  that  I  have  not  forgotten 
your  share  in  this  memorable  evening  and  that 
I  know  how  to  appreciate  the  genius  of  the 
impresario,  as  well  as  the  genius  of  the  prima 
donna." 

In  that  way  Tonnelli  received  the  royal  com- 
mand, not  the  first  he  had  received  by  any 
237 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

means,  but  no  other  had  ever  so  delighted  him. 

Though  from  where  I  sat  with  Madame 
Pointer  I  could  see  only  a  small  part  of  what 
had  transpired  in  the  royal  loge,  Signor  Ton- 
nelli  and  Eleanor,  herself,  soon  after  told  me 
the  little  details  which  I  have  set  down  just  as 
they  occurred  and  not  greatly  differing  from 
the  long  glowing  accounts  that  appeared  in 
all  of  the  newspapers  the  next  day.  But  of 
the  scene  which  followed  I  was  not,  thanks  to 
the  bon  Dieu,  a  witness  nor,  happily,  was  any 
one  else  except  Signor  Tonnelli,  Eleanor  and 
Bruce  Converse  and,  perhaps,  an  officious 
eavesdropping  ouvreuse  or  two,  who  had  the 
subsequent  good  taste  to  Iceep  quiet  about  it. 

Eleanor  and  Signor  Tonnelli,  elated  with 
what  had  passed,  were  on  their  way  from  the 
royal  box  to  join  our  party,  when,  suddenly, 
Bruce  Converse  stood  before  them.  Had  he 
sprung  from  beneath  the  marble  floor  he  could 
hardly  have  surprised  them  more,  for  the  corri- 
Idor  had  apparently  been  deserted.  His  eyes 
238 


A  ROYAL  TOKEN 

were  wild,  his  face  ashy  white,  and  he  seemed 
laboring  under  the  stress  of  some  great  emotion 
that  he  was  struggling  to  subdue. 

It  is  difficult  to  delve  into  the  psychological 
state  of  one  whose  mind,  receiving  a  great 
shock,  a  cataclysmal  awakening,  feeds  upon 
itself,  devours  itself,  as  it  were,  even  as  mad 
animals  turn  upon  themselves  in  their  moments 
of  frenzy.  There  are  few  of  us  who  have  not 
experienced  that  sudden  sickening  agony  of 
soul  that  follows  the  revelation  of  unforeseen 
disastrous  consequences  of  something  we  have 
done  or  left  undone.  The  wild  stabbing  re- 
gret, the  poignant  remorse  strikes  so  deeply  and 
quickly  that  we  cry  out  with  pain  that  seems 
too  great  to  bear. 

Not  until  Bruce  Converse  had  entered  the 
Opera  that  evening  had  the  realization  come  to 
him  that  the  fair  dream  that  had  always  been 
his,  but  which  he  had  allowed  to  be  obscured 
momentarily  by  other  dreams,  might  never  be 
realized.  In  an  instant,  his  soul  had  become  a 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

prey  to  remorse  of  the  kind  that  eats  at  men's 
hearts  and  makes  them  curse  the  day  their 
mothers  bore  them.  Always,  he  had  loved 
Eleanor  Moore;  always,  he  had  expected  that 
some  day  he  would  claim  her  for  his  own.  He 
was  not  a  vain  or  conceited  man ;  he  was  no 
more  selfish  than  the  rest  of  us ;  but  now  he 
realized  that  he  had  thought  of  himself  and  not 
of  her;  of  his  career;  of  his  place  in  the  world 
and  had  asked  Love  to  bide  his  time.  When 
the  world  was  conquered,  then  he  would  have 
something  to  offer  her.  How  many  men  have 
thought  and  done  as  he  did !  Alas ! 

Now,  in  a  flash,  he  had  seen  his  folly.  This 
girl  who  had  sung  before  a  king  was  no  longer 
the  girl  he  knew  in  the  old  studio.  It  was  she 
who  had  conquered  the  world.  He  had  heard 
the  people  proclaiming  her  as  their  Elenori! 
She  belonged  to  them  now.  She  could  never 
any  more  belong  to  him  alone.  He  had  thrown 
away  the  one  thing  in  all  the  world  he  most 
wanted  and  it  might  have  been  his  if  —  if  — 
240 


A  ROYAL  TOKEN 

There  it  was  again ;  his  mind  was  feeding  upon 
itself,  devouring  itself  like  a  thing  gone  mad. 

"  Eleanor !  "  He  held  out  his  hands  toward 
her. 

"  You ! "  was  all  she  could  say,  so  startled 
had  she  been  by  his  unexpected  appearance. 

"Have  you  no  other  greeting  for  me?"  he 
asked  bitterly. 

She  endeavored  to  calm  herself.  Her  heart 
was  wildly  beating.  "  You  frightened  me,"  she 
said. 

"  I  tried  to  see  you  before.  I  went  to  the 
stage  entrance,  but  they  would  not  let  me  pass. 
I  should  have  forced  my  way  past  them,  but 
they  told  me  you  had  gone  to  the  loge  of  the 
king.  I  was  on  my  way  there." 

Eleanor  was  endeavoring  desperately  to  be 
commonplace,  but  her  lips  trembled  as  she 
spoke.  "  I  expected  to  see  you  with  our 
friends.  Signer  Tonnelli  and  I  were  just  go- 
ing to  their  loge.  Shall  we  not  join  them?  " 

"  No,"  he  cried,  "  we  must  not  go  there.  I 
241 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

hate  them.  I  have  learned  to  hate  them  while 
I  heard  you  singing.  It  has  been  torment  to 
me." 

"  That  is  hardly  complimentary."  She  tried 
to  smile. 

It  needs  but  a  spark  to  cause  the  greatest 
explosion.  Bruce  Converse's  control  over  him- 
self was  gone.  His  face  was  distorted  as  one 
in  agony.  "  Eleanor,  for  God's  sake  do  not 
laugh  at  me ! "  he  said  hoarsely.  "  To-night 
when  I  saw  you  it  brought  back  the  old  days. 
You  can  not  have  forgotten  them.  I  saw  how 
these  people  who  pretended  to  be  our  friends 
had  acted  to  keep  us  apart.  It  came  to  me 
clearly.  My  God,  how  blind  I  had  been  before ! 
Oh,  I  was  blind,  blind,  blind !  I  loved  you  then 
as  I  love  you  now,  but  I  let  these  false  friends 
feed  my  selfish  ambition.  I  hate  them !  I  shall 
never  see  them  again !  " 

There  is  a  gentle  dignity,  a  true  valuation  of 
becoming  pride,  that  women  possess  in  much 
finer  degree  than  men.  Converse  had  been  self- 


A  ROYAL  TOKEN 

ish  after  the  manner  of  all  men ;  he  had  been 
the  egoist,  and  his  neglect  had  left  a  wound  a 
few  impassioned  words  could  not  heal.  Elea- 
nor bore  herself  bravely,  concealing  her  emo- 
tion, but  the  blood  had  left  her  face. 

"  You  are  wrong  in  speaking  as  you  do," 
she  answered. 

"  No,  I  am  not  wrong.  To-night  when  I 
saw  you  there,  when  I  heard  those  people  ap- 
plauding you  and  calling  your  name,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  you  belonged  to  them,  that  you  could 
never  belong  to  me,  that  the  happiness  I  used 
to  know  with  you  near  was  gone  forever." 

"  Bruce,"  Eleanor  began,  and  her  voice  had 
in  it  that  impersonal  quality  that  showed  better 
than  words  how  distant  she  had  grown  from 
him,  "  you  are  not  yourself  to-night,  and  I  am 
very  tired.  We  should  not  talk  of  these  things 
now,  but  it  is  well  that  we  understood 
each  other.  Whatever  might  have  been 
once  — " 

He  interrupted  her  with  a  cry.  "  My  God, 
243 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Eleanor,  don't  speak  of  it  as  if  it  were  forever 
past !  " 

"  It  is  past,  Bruce,"  she  answered  calmly. 
"  I  have  had  a  long  time  to  think  of  it,  a  long 
time  when  you  were  thinking  of  other  things. 
These  friends  of  ours,  of  yours  more  than  of 
mine,  who  have  talked  to  us,  imparting  their 
wisdom,  have  acted  as  they  thought  best  for  us. 
And  they  have  been  right." 

"  No,  no,"  he  protested. 

"  Yes,  they  have  been  right.  We  might  as 
well  regard  the  matter  frankly.  Their  experi- 
ence has  been  wider  than  ours.  They  have  seen 
other  careers,  many  of  them.  They  have  seen 
men  and  women  able,  eager  to  work  for  art,  to 
help  the  world,  just  as  you  are  helping  it  — • 
men  and  women  of  genius  brought  down,  made 
commonplace,  useless,  because  they  clung  to 
each  other's  necks,  found  each  other's  arms, 
fettered  each  other  with  their  love.  Sooner  or 
later,  sooner  or  later  but  surely,  one  wanted 
to  be  free,  to  work  in  the  old  way,  and  was  held 
244 


A  ROYAL  TOKEN 

down  by  the  other ;  and  so  their  love  burned  out, 
their  ambitions  were  unfulfilled,  their  souls  be- 
came as  dead  as  ashes." 

Many  philosophers  hold  that  great  love  is 
akin  to  great  hatred,  the  odi  et  amo  of  Catullus. 
The  wise  La  Rochefoucauld  has  said :  "  Judg- 
ing love  by  its  effects,  it  resembles  hate  more 
often  than  love."  Hatred,  anger  and  wounded 
pride  flamed  in  menacing  baneful  light  from 
Bruce  Converse's  eyes  as  he  confronted  Elea- 
nor. 

"  It  is  not  true !  It  is  false ! "  he  cried. 
"  You  do  not  yourself  believe  it.  You  are 
speaking  this  cant  just  to  make  it  appear  that 
you  are  not  heartless.  It  is  because  you  pre- 
fer the  applause  of  those  fools  in  there."  He 
waved  his  hand  contemptuously  toward  the 
auditorium  of  the  theater.  Through  the  closed 
doors  the  strains  of  Weber's  waltz  came  to 
them  distant  as  an  echo.  "  No,  it's  because 
your  ambition  is  set  on  a  career  and  you  would 
sacrifice  anything  for  it.  You  want  the  cheap 
245 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

fame  it  will  bring,  the  notoriety.  You  wanl 
people  to  come  and  flatter  you  and  see  you 
dressed  up  in  absurd  costumes  on  the  stage. 
It  is  that.  You  want  to  hear  the  world  talk 
about  you.  God  knows,"  he  cried  with  bitter 
scorn,  "  it  may  be  that  you  covet  the  money 
such  things  will  bring  to  you." 

Eleanor  winced  under  the  insult.  Signor 
Tonnelli  had  been  standing  a  little  apart,  hold- 
ing himself  admirably  with  eyes  averted,  ap- 
pearing to  hear  nothing  that  was  being  said, 
but  he  had  lost  no  word.  Instantly  now  he 
intervened. 

"  Monsieur,  you  may  not  say  such  thing  to 
this  younga  lady.  They  are  not  true." 

His  words  converted  Bruce  Converse  into  a 
madman.  With  one  arm  this  giant  swept  the 
little  impresario  aside,  and  stood  towering  over 
him  as  if  about  to  strike  with  terrible  strength. 

"  You !  "  he  cried.  "  You  dare  to  interfere 
now  !  It  is  you  who  have  taken  this  girl  away ; 
and  for  what?  To  make  money  out  of  her. 
246 


A  ROYAL  TOKEN 

That  is  all  you  care  about.  You  think  of 
nothing  else.  You  would  wreck  her  soul  and 
mind  and  body,  yes  and  gladly,  just  to  put  a 
few  thousand  francs  into  your  pocket,  Art !  " 
He  threw  up  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  supreme 
contempt.  "What  do  you  know  of  art? 
What  do  you  care  for  it?  Money  is  your 
god ;  it  is  the  god  of  all  your  tribe.  You 
are  after  money,  money,  money  —  nothing 
else !  " 

Signor  Tonnelli  was  a  very  brave  little  man. 
He  was  not  frightened,  but  had  a  dagger  been 
put  in  his  hand  I  think  he  would  have  killed 
Converse  then.  He  tried  to  speak  calmly,  but 
he  made  a  sorry  effort  with  his  English. 

"  That  is  not  true ;  he  is  a  big  lie.  I  would 
give  a  great  voice  to  the  world  so  everrabody 
could  hear  it  and  it  would  make  him  better.  I 
would  do  that ;  but  you,  what  would  you  do  if 
you  could,  eh?  You  would  take  that  so  beauti- 
ful voice  and  put  it  in  a  little  cage  just  for 
yourself.  You  are  an  artist,  eh?  You  would 
247 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

do  that.     Yes,  that  is  what  you  would  do  if  you 
could.      Bah !  " 

There  came  from  the  theater  the  applause 
that  told  the  end  of  the  ballet.  Now  I  had 
observed  the  king  and  the  president  a  few 
minutes  before  resume  their  places.  The  royal 
party  had  now  left  the  loge,  and  I  wondered 
why  Eleanor  and  Signor  Tonnelli  had  not 
joined  us.  I  went  out  into  the  corridor  to 
look  for  them,  and  Eleanor,  catching  sight  of 
me,  ran  forward  and  seized  me  by  the  arm. 

"  Prince  Florimond,"  she  cried,  "  please  take 
me  away  at  once.  Take  me  to  my  hotel." 

Her  white  face  and  frightened  appeal  caused 
me  to  realize  that  some  untoward  happening 
had  shocked  her.  This  was  not  the  time  or 
place  to  ask  what  it  might  be.  I  looked  up  and 
saw  Converse  and  Tonnelli  facing  each  other. 
Converse  turned  suddenly  and  walked  away, 
leaving  Tonnelli  gazing  after  him  defiantly. 
Intuitively  came  to  me  an  intimation  of  what 
had  happened. 

248 


A  ROYAL  TOKEN 

People  were  streaming  from  the  loges,  hurry- 
ing on  their  way  out  of  the  opera-house.  Sev- 
eral had  recognized  Eleanor,  and  at  once  there 
was  a  crowd  about  her  speaking  her  name  and 
overwhelming  her  with  congratulations. 

"  Please  take  me  away  quickh7,"  she  begged. 

I  caught  sight  of  Madame  Pointer  standing 
at  the  door  of  her  loge,  and  in  dumb  show, 
across  the  heads  of  the  intervening  people,  I 
conveyed  to  her  that  Eleanor  wished  to  go  di- 
rectly home.  She  understood.  God's  blessing 
on  those  women  who  always  understand  without 
explanations ! 

We  made  our  way  with  difficulty,  but  when 
we  came  to  the  top  of  the  great  stairs  the 
people  formed  a  pathway  for  us,  lining  the 
wide  stairway  and  leaning  over  the  marble  bal- 
ustrades, cheering  and  applauding  and  calling 
Eleanor  by  name.  Flowers  were  thrown  that 
fell  on  her  or  at  her  feet.  Bravely  Eleanor 
bowed  and  smiled,  but  never  did  any  one  in  the 
hour  of  triumph  wear  so  sad  a  countenance. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AN    EVENTFUL    MORNING    THAT    IS    FILLED    WITH 
SURPRISES    FOR    NEARLY    EVERY    ONE 

OUR  automobile  had  not  quitted  the  bril- 
liant  Place    de   1'Opera   before    Eleanor 
gave  way  to  the  tears  that  I  was  sure  would 
come.     We  can  often  feel  a  woman's  tears  long 
before  we  see  them. 

"  Oh-h-h !  "  she  sobbed,  quivering  with  pain 
and  hiding  her  eyes  with  her  hands  as  if  she 
wished  to  shut  out  the  vision  of  some  tragic 
spectacle.  "  Oh-h-h !  It  was  terrible,  terrible ! 
He  hates  me !  He  said  that  I  —  that  I  — 
But  her  sobs  choked  further  utterance. 

I  sat  by  her  in  silent  sympathy,  knowing  that 
when  a  woman  weeps  it  is  not  well  to  ask  ques- 
tions.    In  good  time,  I  was  sure  she  would  tell 
250 


AN  EVENTFUL  MORNING 

me  all  that  she  wished  me  to  know,  and  I  de- 
sired to  hear  only  so  much  as  would  relieve  her 
burdened  spirit  to  tell  or  indicate  to  me  how  I 
might  serve  her.  Long  heart-breaking  sobs 
continued  to  convulse  her,  but,  at  last,  in  un- 
connected words,  she  had  told  me  enough  to 
make  me  aware  of  the  dreadful  scene  she  had 
been  through. 

"  And  I  had  been  so  happy  the  moment  be- 
fore," she  cried  bitterly.  "  I  had  persuaded 
myself  that  I  was  happy.  Now  it  is  ended. 
I  shall  hate  the  stage  forever.  I  shall  never 
sing  in  public  again." 

Vainly  I  tried  to  console  her.  "  Never, 
never!  It  is  finished,"  she  answered. 

It  was  not  so  much  this  determination  —  for 
when  we  are  young  "  never "  and  "  forever " 
are  words  that  fall  lightly  from  our  lips  —  that 
caused  me  uneasiness  as  the  suddenly  revealed 
knowledge  that  she  had  loved  so  deeply  Bruce 
Converse,  loved  him  still,  so  that  no  other  hap- 
piness was  to  be  measured  with  that  love.  I 
251 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

covered  myself  with  reproaches  that  I  had 
helped  to  thwart  this  girl  whom  I  held  so  dear, 
and  who  so  implicitly  trusted  in  me,  from 
achieving  her  desire,  beside  which  all  else  was 
as  naught.  I,  a  philosopher,  had  opposed  one 
of  nature's  great  laws,  that  of  selection,  and 
now  I  was  seeing  the  consequences.  Too  late, 
I  was  repenting  of  my  folly. 

With  as  much  gentleness  as  I  could,  and  an 
inward  trembling,  for  my  soul  was  afraid,  I 
confessed  to  Eleanor  that  which  had  been  done. 
I  spared  not  myself,  for  I  knew  that  I  might 
not  escape  the  responsibility,  but  I  tried  to 
make  plain  to  her  that  what  we  had  done  had 
been  inspired  by  an  ill-guided  desire  to  help 
him  and  her.  She  heard  me  silently.  As  we 
drove  up  to  the  wide  deserted  doorway  of  her 
hotel  she  placed  her  hand  on  mine. 

"  I  have  known  it  all  along,"  she  said 
quietly.  "  I  could  see  what  was  being  done. 
There  is  no  use  to  talk  about  it  now.  It  is  too 
late.  You  must  not  blame  yourself  too  much ; 


AN  EVENTFUL  MORNING 

you  are  my  good  friend.  I  know  that  all  of 
you  acted  as  you  thought  best."  Wounded  as 
she  was,  her  gentleness,  her  sweetness  did  not 
desert  her. 

The  automobile  had  stopped  and  the  man  was 
waiting  at  the  door,  but  I  detained  her.  "  You 
will  let  me  come  to  see  you  to-morrow  ?  "  I 
asked.  "  And  promise  me  that  you  will  not 
take  this  too  much  to  heart  to-night.  You  will 
go  to  your  aunt?  She  is  waiting  for  you?  " 

She  nodded  her  head.  "  Poor  Aunt  Ella ! 
She  left  the  theater  to  come  here  to  have  a 
good  cry,  as  she  said.  She  was  so  happy." 

Eleanor  tried  to  smile,  but  I  could  see  that  a 
fresh  torrent  of  tears  lay  under  the  eyes  that 
met  mine.  Before  that  torrent  could  be  re- 
leased she  had  hastily  said  "  Good-by "  and 
vanished  into  the  hotel. 

That  night  I  could  not  sleep.     My  mind  was 

troubled  about  Eleanor,  and  I  pictured  her  as 

robbed  also  of  sleep,  not  only  for  this  night  but 

probably  for  many  nights  to  come,  by  a  regret 

253 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

that  it  had  been  my  misfortune,  in  part,  to 
cause  her.  Every  effort,  I  determined,  should 
be  made  to  undo  what  had  been  done.  My 
brain  worked  busily  with  schemes  to  achieve 
this  end,  and  I  waited  impatiently  for  the  morn- 
ing to  come.  Life  is  never  so  attractive  to  us 
as  when  it  offers  the  opportunity  to  repair  the 
mistakes  of  the  past.  Eagerly,  I  wished  to  set 
about  my  task.  As  soon  as  the  servants  were 
about  I  rang  for  my  breakfast.  I  was  having 
my  coffee  when  Gaspard  came  with  a  letter. 

"  What,  the  courrier  already !  "  I  exclaimed. 

Gaspard  gazed  at  me  with  melancholy  mis- 
givings. "  No,  my  master,  it  is  but  seven 
o'clock.  This  was  brought  but  this  instant  by 
a  man  servant  in  great  haste,  who  said  it  was 
of  the  utmost  importance." 

The  letter  was  from  Madame  Pointer.  I 
guessed  at  something  of  its  import  as  I  tore 
open  the  envelope.  The  first  words  were  a  cry 
of  alarm.  Converse  had  written  her  a  dark 
frightening  letter,  which  he  had  left  in  person 
254 


AN  EVENTFUL  MORNING 

with  her  concierge  at  sunrise.  He  was  fleeing 
from  France,  from  those  whom  he  now  impli- 
cated in  the  wreck  of  his  life. 

"  I  am  nearly  crazed  with  remorse  and  ap- 
prehension," Madame  Pointer  wrote.  "  Help 
us,  my  true  good  friend,  to  undo  the  wrong 
we  have  done.  His  letter  makes  me  fear  that 
in  his  present  state  of  mind  he  may  do  some- 
thing desperate." 

Immediately,  I  left  my  breakfast  table,  anxi- 
ous to  find  Bruce  Converse  without  a  moment's 
delay. 

"  My  master  has  not  finished  his  coffee," 
Gaspard  urged. 

"  It  will  wait  until  I  return,"  I  answered,  as 
I  went  out  of  the  house  and  into  the  street. 

The  first  cdb  that  I  saw  I  hailed.  During 
the  long  night  of  pondering,  my  imagination 
had  seen  the  situation  from  every  aspect,  even 
this  one  of  threatened  tragedy,  and  I  felt  that 
I  knew  now  where  I  might  find  Bruce  Converse. 
I  went,  not  to  that  new  studio  in  the  Pare 
255 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

Monceau  Quarter,  with  its  luxurious  appoint- 
ments, but  to  the  old  studio  in  the  Rue  d'Assas, 
and  there,  even  as  I  had  imagined,  I  found  him. 
He  was  endeavoring  to  persuade  good  Madame 
Guillou  to  let  him  see  the  old  room  for  a  last 
time,  and  she,  who  held  the  keys  of  the  new 
tenant  who  had  gone  away  for  the  summer, 
wavered  between  her  duty  as  concierge  and  her 
wish  to  please  one  who  had  once  been  her 
favorite  locatalre.  I  think  she  suspected  some- 
thing of  the  reason  for  his  request. 

If  ever  a  man  stood  in  need  of  a  friend  it 
was  Bruce  Converse  then.  His  condition  I 
can  describe  only  by  a  popular  idiom  —  he  was 
all  gone  to  pieces.  His  bloodless  face,  his 
reddened  eyelids,  the  unbrushed  hair,  his 
clothes,  all  showed  plainly  that  he  had  gone 
through  what  we  call  a  white  night.  Un- 
doubtedly, he  had  not  slept;  it  is  probable  he 
had  been  on  his  feet  all  the  time,  walking  the 
streets  aimlessly,  propelled  by  that  throbbing 
engine  in  his  brain  that  would  not  cease. 
256 


AN  EVENTFUL  MORNING 

I  laid  a  hand  gently  on  his  arm.  He  seemed 
to  take  my  presence  for  granted,  for  he  only 
looked  at  me  as  one  who  is  at  the  end  of  his 
strength,  who  can  resist  no  more,  like  delirious 
fever  patients  who,  after  paroxysms  in  which 
their  force  seems  inexhaustible,  lie  calmly  back, 
unequal  to  the  slightest  further  exertion,  with 
the  returned  light  of  reason  shining  dimly  in 
their  eyes. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  with  me,  my  friend," 
I  said  to  him,  and,  unresisting,  he  allowed  me 
to  conduct  him  to  the  cab.  Wearily,  he  sank 
upon  the  seat.  I  told  the  driver  where  to  go, 
and  scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  as  we  rode 
across  the  city  to  Eleanor's  hotel.  It  mayj 
have  been  that  to  Bruce  Converse  that  (drive 
was  only  a  part  of  the  wild  dream  from  which 
he  felt  he  must  some  time  awake. 

I  was  familiar  with  the  suite  of  rooms  that 

had    been    set    apart    for    Eleanor    and    Mrs. 

Crackenby,  and  we  went  at  once  to  them.     My 

knock  at  the  door  was  answered  by  Fiorella, 

257 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

who  had  once  been  a  model,  and  had  been  taken 
by  Eleanor  into  service  as  a  maid.  Astonish- 
ment and  relief  were  so  eloquent  upon  her  fea- 
tures that  I  knew  her  emotions  must  try  to 
find  expression  in  words,  so  with  a  finger  on 
my  lip  I  cautioned  her  to  silence. 

"  Tell  your  mistress  that  I  am  here  and  must 
see  her  at  once  alone.  Do  not  say  that  any 
one  else  is  with  me." 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  le  Prince,  she  has  not  slept. 
She  has  done  nothing  but  weep.  What  has 
happened?  " 

"  'S-sh !  Ask  no  questions,  but  go  and  do 
as  you  are  bid." 

She  disappeared  and  almost  at  once  the  door 
reopened  and  Eleanor  entered.  Poor  Eleanor, 
how  my  heart  pitied  her !  Her  face  showed  the 
suffering  she  had  undergone.  She  had  not 
changed  her  dress.  Her  dark  waving  hair  was 
down  about  her  shoulders.  Under  her  eyes 
were  blue  shadows.  She  met  my  gaze  with  a 
look  of  hopeless  inquiry.  Misery  had  walked 
258 


AN  EVENTFUL  MORNING 

with  her  that  night  to  the  world's  end.  Then 
as  her  look  traveled  beyond  me  and  she  be- 
came slowly  aware  of  the  presence  of  Converse, 
a  clear  light  came  to  her  tear-washed  eyes. 

"  Bruce !  "  she  cried,  holding  out  her  arms 
to  him.  "  Bruce !  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  " 

And  Bruce  Converse,  as  though  the  hideous 
specters  of  his  dream  had  at  last  been  chased 
away,  repeated  words  that  had  been  upon  his 
lips  ever  since  that  horrid  nightmare  had  be- 
gun :  "  Eleanor,  forgive  me !  " 

As  his  arms  folded  about  her  and  he  held 
her  as  if  he  intended  never  to  release  her  again 
in  this  world,  he  kept  repeating:  "I  am  so 
sorry,  so  sorry,  so  sorry ! "  and  she  murmured 
all  the  while :  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad,  so 
glad ! "  It  is  the  strange  language  of  love. 
One  was  weeping  and  making  a  confession  of 
joy,  while  upon  the  lips  of  the  other  was  a  con- 
fession of  sorrow,  yet  their  meaningless  words 
meant  all  and  everything  to  themselves,  and 
each  one  understood.  Sorrow  and  joy  —  they 
259 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

were  the  same  to  those  two.  Henceforth,  there 
could  be  no  sorrow  and  no  joy  for  one  without 
the  other.  They  were  one ;  the  mind  of  one  was 
the  mind  of  the  other.  Words  were  of  no  avail, 
they  counted  for  naught ;  love  gave  expression 
to  the  thought  that  was  in  their  heart.  Love 
was  all  in  all ;  no  consideration  of  glory  sullied 
its  pure  beauty ;  no  idea  of  separation,  now  or 
after,  clouded  its  radiance.  They  were  stand- 
ing upon  the  heights  where  it  is  always  sun- 
shine. 

Quietly,  I  slipped  out  of  the  door.  Truly, 
I  had  beheld  more  than  it  was  my  privilege  or 
my  intention  to  behold,  but  now  the  precious 
souvenir  was  mine:  as  long  as  life  should  last, 
I  should  see  them  as  I  saw  them  then.  Exalted 
I  rode  away,  with  a  song  on  my  lips. 

The    world    was    topsyturvy    that    morning, 
f 
and  I  was  not  the  least  topsyturvy  of  the  lot. 

I  drove  directly  to  the  home  of  Madame  Pointer 

to  acquaint  her  with  the  news  that  would  turn 

her  dismay  to  delight.     Early  as  it  was,  she 

260 


AN  EVENTFUL  MORNING 

was  out.  My  mind  conceived  what  mission  it 
was  that  occupied  her.  Awkwardly  and  with 
pain,  I  wrote  with  my  left  hand  a  few  words 
that  should  console  her.  Thence,  I  went  to 
the  Vicomte  de  Volney's.  He,  too,  was  away 
from  home. 

Only  when  I  reached  my  door,  was  I  con- 
scious of  a  great  fatigue.  The  sleepless  nights 
had  told  on  me.  There  was  fever  in  my 
wounded  arm,  and  I  was  glad  to  lie  down  to 
rest.  But  sleep  does  not  come  when  the  brain 
is  busy  weaving  intricate  patterns  in  the  fabric 
of  life.  I  tried  to  force  myself  into  a  state  of 
repose,  but  the  shuttle  of  my  thoughts  flew  too 
swiftly.  The  fatigue  of  the  body  could  not 
conquer  the  activity  of  the  brain.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  I  had  been  fighting  this  battle  with 
my  rebellious  faculties  for  many  hours  and  was 
on  the  point  of  obtaining  a  victory,  when  Gas- 
pard  tiptoed  into  the  room. 

"  Is  it  not  enough,"  I  said  to  him  crossly, 
"  that  you  watch  constantly  over  my  waking 
261 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

moments?  Must  3rou  come  creeping  into  my 
bedchamber  to  observe  how  I  sleep?  " 

He  bowed  his  head  before  the  rebuke.  "  Par- 
don. It  is  the  American  gentleman,  who  says 
he  will  see  my  master  at  once,  and  will  not 
accept  of  my  excuses." 

To  Gaspard,  Mr.  Spaulding  Knapp  was 
always  "  the  American  gentleman."  Some  im- 
portant mission,  some  new  development  in  the 
recent  exciting  events,  I  argued,  must  be  the 
cause  of  his  urgent  demand.  I  rose. 

"  Tell  the  gentleman  I  descend  immediately. 
I  shall  not  keep  him  waiting." 

It  was  a  different  Mr.  Knapp  that  I  met  in 
my  salon.  His  aggressiveness  was  gone.  Hesi- 
tatingly he  apologized  for  disturbing  me,  and 
seemed  unable  to  tell  me  directly  the  object  of 
his  visit. 

"  I  should  not  have  insisted  upon  seeing  you 

were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  I  am  leaving  at 

once  for  Cherbourg,  there  to  take  the  steamer 

for  America.     My  automobile  is  at  the  door. 

262 


AN  EVENTFUL  MORNING 

It  is  unlikely  that  I  shall  return  to  France, 
and  I  have  come  to  say  good-by." 

"  Oh,  surely  you  will  return,"  I  made  haste 
to  say.  "  I  did  not  know  you  were  going  so 
soon,  but  do  not  pretend  that  the  parting  is  to 
be  for  so  long.  I  should  greatly  regret  it. 
Ah,  no,  you  are  one  of  those  Americans  who 
look  upon  crossing  the  ocean  as  we  Frenchmen 
look  upon  crossing  the  Seine.  You  will  soon 
return." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  unlikely."  Then 
his  clear  gray  eyes  looked  unflinchingly  into 
mine.  "  Prince,  the  object  of  my  visit  was  not 
alone  to  say  good-by."  He  paused  and  then 
went  on  more  rapidly.  "  When  I  came  to 
Paris  this  time,  it  was,  as  you  probably  know, 
in  response  to  an  urgent  cable  message  from 
Leslie  Pointer."  Again  he  paused,  as  if  what 
he  wished  to  say  were  difficult. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  I  said. 

"  I  have  known  her  nearly  all  her  life,"  Mr. 
Knapp  continued.  "  From  the  time  she  was  a 
263 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

little  girl,  I  have  been  in  love  with  her.  If  I 
have  accomplished  anything  worth  while  in  my 
life,  I  ascribe  it  to  my  desire  to  be  worthy  of 
her  love  —  to  have  something  I  could  offer  her 
and  not  be  ashamed.  I  saw  her  marry  my 
closest  friend,  Pointer,  and  she  was  not  very 
happy.  When  he  died,  my  life  was  again  de- 
voted to  the  thought  of  some  day  persuading 
her  to  be  my  wife.  It  was  not  to  be.  Long 
ago,  she  made  me  understand  that  I  could  never 
be  anything  to  her  but  the  good  friend  I  had 
always  tried  to  be." 

Strong  man  as  he  was,  it  was  not  easy  for 
Spaulding  Knapp  to  continue,  but  he  seemed 
to  take  a  firmer  hold  of  himself  to  force  his 
confession  to  the  end.  "  To-day,  I  have 
learned  that  my  hope,  which  had  been  reborn 
because  of  her  message  to  me,  was  false.  The 
error  was  my  own,  entirely  my  own.  The  sig- 
nificance I  gave  to  her  urgent  demand  that  I 
should  come  here  sprang  from  my  own  desire, 
She  wished  my  presence  in  Paris  solely  that  I 
264 


might  witness  Miss  Moore's  triumph.  It  is  one 
of  the  noble  traits  of  her  character  —  interest 
in  others.  She  has  aided  many."  He  was 
silent  for  a  moment.  "  My  mistake,"  he  went 
on,  "  forced  from  her  an  admission,  Prince,  of 
her  love  for  you.  I,  perhaps,  have  no  right  to 
speak  of  it,  for  I  think  she  would  not  now  have 
told  me  of  it  had  she  not  wished  to  convince 
me  of  the  hopelessness  of  my  love  for  her,  but 
I  may  not  have  the  opportunity  to  talk  to  you 
again." 

My  brain  was  reeling.  The  blood  pounded 
at  my  temples  so  that  I  was  hardly  sure  I  heard 
his  words  aright.  "  I  have  come  to  congratu- 
late you,  but  not  for  that  alone,"  he  continued. 
"  I  wished  you  to  know  of  my  love  for  her  and 
how  long  it  has  endured.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
say  to  you  what  I  am  about  to  say,  but  so 
many  American  women  have  coveted  titles  that 
I  came  here  intending  to  say  it,  and  you  will 
understand.  Although  your  title  is  so  high 
and  your  name  so  honored,  it  is  not  that  which 
265 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

has  influenced  her  choice.  Her  love  for  you 
would  have  been  the  same  had  you  possessed 
neither  title  nor  fortune.  It  is  that  which  I 
wish  you  always  to  remember.  Be  kind  to  her 
—  but  you  are  always  kind.  She  herself  has 
said  so  more  than  once  since  I  have  known  you. 
I  shall  always  be  your  friend- — your  friend 
and  hers.  Good-by." 

I  could  not  speak.  All  my  senses  were 
marshaled  in  an  effort  to  keep  myself  from 
falling,  for  I  was  dizzy  with  the  emotion  of  ex- 
quisite joy  his  words  had  caused.  Never  had 
I  dared  before  to  hope;  never  had  I  dared  to 
acknowledge  even  to  myself  this  love  that  had 
lain  so  long  in  my  heart.  What  I  had  imagined 
was  a  secret  fastened  within  my  own  soul  was 
now  proclaimed  by  another's  lips.  And  she, 
the  object  of  my  silent  adoration,  had  seen! 
And  the  love  I  bore  her  was  mysteriously  re- 
turned ! 

I   stood  there   alone  in  my  own  house   and 
trembled   for   my    reason.     My    troubled   gaze 
266 


sought  familiar  objects  about  the  room,  fasten- 
ing upon  them  as  an  anchor  to  steady  my 
whirling  senses,  endeavoring  by  my  remem- 
brance of  these  familiar  things  to  convince  my- 
self that  what  I  had  heard  was  real. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    PRINCE    TELLS    HIS    STORY 

IT  is  true,  perhaps,  that  I  am  old-fashioned 
in  this  modern  France  of  the  freethinkers, 
but  never  have  I  failed  to  find  consolation  and 
help  in  the  ancient  faith  of  my  fathers.  The 
experience  of  a  life  already  growing  long  has 
taught  me  that,  instinctively,  in  the  great 
crises  of  existence,  when  depressed  by  supreme 
sorrow  or  exalted  by  exquisite  joy,  we  seek  a 
Power  beyond  our  own  to  bear  with  us  the 
burden  of  our  grief  or  to  hear  our  confession 
of  gratitude  for  our  supernal  happiness. 
After  all,  have  not  the  great  philosophers, 
though  they  would  confuse  it  by  many  names, 
reached  the  same  conclusion? 

When  that  surprising  Mr.  Spaulding  Knapp 
268 


THE  PRINCE'S  STORY 

had  left  me,  and  I  was  again  master  of  myself, 
I  went  to  the  little  chapel  in  my  home,  and, 
kneeling  there  before  the  altar,  I  gave  thanks 
to  my  Maker.  Then,  almost  as  a  compelling 
rite  of  sentiment,  I  went  to  my  room  and 
placed  fresh  red  roses  in  that  vase  of  Lan- 
caster that  had  been  a  prince's  gift  to  my 
mother  so  many  years  before. 

When  I  departed  from  my  house  it  was 
glorious  summer,  a  day  full  of  sunshine.  0! 
le  beau  soleil!  I  could  have  run  to  the  pres- 
ence of  her  whom  I  sought.  With  pain  I 
prevented  myself  from  leaping  into  an  auto- 
mobile and  quickly  going  whither  I  was  bound, 
but  a  something  stronger  almost  than  life 
itself  stayed  me,  a  something  of  old  tradition. 

"  Calm  thyself,"  I  counseled  my  beating 
heart.  "  Thou  must  go  about  this  matter  with 
becoming  dignity.  Give  time  to  thyself  for 
reflection,  that  at  last  thou  mayst  be  master 
of  thy  emotions  and  show  thyself  worthy  of 
thy  blood." 

269 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

I  walked  by  the  Seine,  whose  waters  were 
dancing  with  joy,  reflecting  the  gay  color  of 
trees  and  passing  boats.  I  crossed  the  Pont 
de  1'Alma  with  its  soldiers  of  stone,  and  so  up 
the  broad  avenue  to  the  Etoile.  And  then  I 
was  in  her  home,  in  the  room  that  spoke  so  of 
her,  waiting  and  endeavoring  to  be  calm  as  the 
slow  moments  passed.  I  heard  the  rustling  of 
her  dress  in  the  ante-chamber  and  she  stood  at 
the  door,  smiling,  both  hands  outstretched. 

"  Oh,  Prince  Florimond,  how  can  I  ever 
thank  you  ?  " 

Love  that  is  love  makes  sacred  the  object  of 
its  worship.  Yesterday  I  could  have  taken 
her  hands  into  my  own ;  now  it  was  that,  for 
the  moment,  I  could  not  bear  that  mine  should 
touch  her.  I  spoke  to  her  the  words  that  I 
had  framed  during  my  walk. 

"  Madame,    I    received    to-day    a    visit    from 

Monsieur   Spaulding  Knapp,  to  whom  I  shall 

be  henceforth  forever  grateful.     It  is  he  who, 

in  his  great  friendship,  has  given  me  the  cour- 

270 


THE  PRINCE'S  STORY 

age  to  speak.  I  should  never  have  pos- 
sessed the  audacity  to  confess  to  you  what 
has  so  long  been  the  cherished  secret  of  my 
heart.  I  had  not  dared  to — 

Of  what  use  are  the  resolves  of  calmness? 
Philosophy  and  philosophers  are  powerless 
against  the  primal  human  emotions.  All  that 
I  had  schooled  myself  to  say  was  gone  in  a 
moment,  and  I  was  kneeling  before  my  saint, 
pouring  forth  my  prayer  in  a  cascade  of 
words  that  had  in  them  neither  philosophy  nor 
logic  nor  much  of  thought,  but,  springing  in 
flood  from  an  overflowing  heart,  they  bore  on 
like  the  harmony  of  falling  waters  the  wild 
music  of  my  love.  God  knows,  I  knelt  there 
so  close  to  my  beloved  in  all  humility.  Who 
was  I  that  I  should  so  aspire?  What  could 
I  offer  for  a  treasure  beyond  all  worldly  price? 
An  honored  name?  Fortune?  What  are  they 
in  comparison  to  youth?  And  that,  alas,  J 
could  no  longer  give  as  one  counts  the  relent- 
less years. 

271 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

"  Leslie,  God  has  been  good  to  me.  Never 
before  to-day  have  I  allowed  myself  to  con- 
template the  life  that  I  have  lived  as  lonely 
and  barren.  I  have  striven  as  best  I  might 
with  the  cold  philosophies  of  ancients  and 
moderns  to  sustain  me,  but  always,  in  my 
secret  heart,  I  have  waited  for  this  day.  Now, 
I  realize  how  blank  and  bleak  has  been  my  ex- 
istence. Now,  I  know  that  without  you  I 
could  not  long  have  lived.  I  must  have  died 
as  plants  die,  withered  and  dried  and  blown 
away  by  the  winds,  but  now,  oh,  my  Princess, 
you  have  come  like  sunshine  to  bring  back 
freshness  and  strength  and  life,  and  for  you  I 
shall  be  always  young.  My  name  shall  not 
now  die  with  me,  and  you  will  make  that  name 
even  more  honored  than  it  has  been  before. 
To-day,  before  I  came  to  you,  I  prayed  to  the 
good  God  to  make  me  worthy  of  you,  and  I 
placed  roses  to  the  memory  of  my  mother,  tell- 
ing her  that  you  were  as  she  had  been,  and  in 
my  heart  was  a  heavenly  peace,  for  I  knew 
272 


THE  PRINCE'S  STORY 

that  she  was  happy  in  the  great  happiness  of 
her  son.  It  was  as  if  we  were  closer  than  we 
had  been  since  she  died,  when  I  was  a  little 
child." 

But  Madame  Pointer  took  quickly  one  step 
back  from  me.  "  No !  No !  No  !  "  she  cried. 
"  No !  I  can  not  listen !  Don't !  " 

As  I  tried  to  speak  she  put  one  hand  upon 
my  forehead,  as  if  to  prevent  me  from  con- 
tinuing. So  strong  had  been  the  torrent 
of  my  words  she  could  not  until  then  have 
spoken. 

"  Spaulding  Knapp ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  What  has  he  said  to  you?  "  Her  words  came 
mechanically,  as  one  who  while  speaking  bends 
the  mind  to  recall  other  words. 

"  It  was  he,  who  loves  you  almost  as  I  do, 
who  came  to  me  and  gave  me  the  courage  to 
hope." 

"  But,  tell  me  —  say  it  to  me  just  as  he 
said  it  to  you  —  repeat  his  words  —  what  did 
he  say?  What  —  could  he  have  said?"  Her 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

voice  was  a  monotone,  and  she  seemed  to  be 
struggling  to  speak  audibly. 

As  best  I  could  I  told  her  of  the  visit  I  had 
received  that  afternoon.  When  I  had  finished 
a  sob  convulsed  her,  causing  her  whole  body  to 
tremble,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
Gently  I  tried  to  remove  them.  They  were  as 
ice. 

"  It  was  my  mistake,"  she  sobbed.  "  How 
can  you  ever  forgive  me?  I  never  dreamed 
that  he  could  misunderstand.  I  told  him  I 
was  to  be  married.  I  had  not  meant  to  tell 
any  one  just  now,  but  he  has  " —  a  last  sob  in- 
terrupted her  — "  he  has  known  me  ever  since 
I  was  a  child.  He  has  been  always  the  best 
of  friends  and  my  adviser,  and  I  feared  —  it 
was  foolish  of  me,  but  he  is  intensely  proud  of 
America  —  I  feared  he  might  think  I  had  been 
blinded  by  a  title.  I  mentioned  no  name.  Oh, 
what  a  foolish  coward  I  was,  but  it  was  all  so 
new  to  me  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  speak 
the  name  I  am  to  bear.  I  see  now  what  he 
274 


THE  PRINCE'S  STORY 

thought,  for  we  had  been  talking  so  much  of 
you  and  of  your  great  kindness.  I  am  to 
marry  the  Vicomte  de  Volney.  As  soon  as 
Spaulding  Knapp  left  me,  I  wrote  to  you.  I 
thought  you  had  received  the  letter.  I  thought 
when  I  saw  you  —  I  thought  you  had  come  to 
congratulate  me." 

De  Volney!  De  Volney!  The  name  went 
crashing  through  my  brain  like  a  shot  that 
ends  life.  Why  had  I  not  seen?  How  fool- 
ish, how  blind,  I  had  been!  It  was  plain 
enough  now,  but  —  Bertrand  de  Volney !  I 
had  thought  he  was  one  who  had  steeled  him- 
self against  love. 

I  made  an  effort  to  speak.  "  I  do  con- 
gratulate you.  He  is  worthier  than  I.  May 
you  both  be  forever  happy." 

She  came  to  where  I  stood,  an3  her  hand 
rested  tenderly  upon  mine.  "  Prince  Flori- 
mond,  I  am  so  very  sorry."  Tears  were  in  her 
eyes.  God  bless  her! 

How  I  got  myself  out  of  the  house,  I  do  not 
275 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

know.  I  hope  I  made  not  a  too  bad  show  of 
it.  Yes,  I  should  desire  to  think  that  I  ac- 
quitted myself  well.  It  is  the  crises  of  life 
that  determine  whether  a  man,  whatever  he 
may  be  born,  be  really  a  peasant  or  a  prince. 

I  must  have  wandered  about  for  several 
hours,  but  of  it  all  I  recall  nothing.  Then  I 
became  conscious  that  I  was  standing  on  the 
Quai  des  Grands  Augustins,  talking  to  an 
ancient  bouquiniste  who  had  sold  books  to  my 
father,  and  who  still  spoke  of  me  as  "  the  young 
prince."  It  was  dark  and  a  soft  rain  was  fall- 
ing. I  was  burning  up  with  fever.  The  wound 
in  my  arm  was  like  fire,  and  my  body  seemeid 
numb  with  pain.  Gratefully  I  felt  the  cooling 
rain-drops  beat  upon  my  face  and  hands. 

"  The  young  prince  is  not  well,"  the  old 
man  was  saying.  "  Monsieur  should  not  be 
out  in  this  dog's  weather  without  the  pro- 
tection of  an  umbrella." 

I   looked    into    the    ambushed    eyes    of    the 
sturdy  old  graybeard  muffled  in  his  cape. 
276 


THE  PRINCE'S  STORY 

"  And  is  it  thou,  Pere  Cormon,  standing 
in  the  rain  at  thy  age,  who  shouldst  warn  me 
to  cover  myself  like  a  woman?  "  I  replied  to 
him  in  raillery. 

"  It  is  well  for  us  who  are  used  to  it  to  take 
the  weather  as  it  comes,"  was  his  kindly  an- 
swer, "  but  the  young  prince  should  seek  his 
home." 

"  Thou  art  right,  my  old  friend,  and  grate- 
ful am  I  that  I  have  a  home  to  go  to,  for,  in 
truth,  I  am  tired.  The  '  young  prince '  is  no 
longer  young."  I  gave  the  brave  man  a  gold 
piece  against  the  morrow's  purchase  and  took 
my  way  homeward. 

Never  have  the  steps  of  my  father's  house 
seemed  so  lonely.  The  thought  struck  me  like 
a  knife  that  I  must  go  up  and  down  them  for- 
ever alone  and  there  would  never  be  another 
Prince  de  Saint-Sauveur  whose  feet  would  press 
them. 

Gaspard  was  at  the  door,  anxious  as  he  was 
always,  but  now  I  felt  no  resentment  because 
277 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

of  his  solicitude.  He  is  a  good  and  faithful 
friend,  old  Gaspard,  and  I  have  not  been  al- 
ways as  gentle  with  him  as  he  deserves. 

"  My  master  is  ill !  "  he  cried  when  he  saw 
me. 

"  Nonsense.  It  is  nothing.  Is  the  dinner 
ready?  " 

"  Ready  this  long  time,  my  master." 

In  my  room,  I  found  her  letter.  Something 
said  to  me  it  might  be  the  last  I  should  ever 
receive  from  her,  and  as  I  slowly  read  it  I 
raised  to  my  lips  the  page  her  hand  had 
touched. 

With  difficulty  I  dressed.  That  trifling 
wound  was  giving  me  no  end  of  bother.  When 
I  came  down  to  the  table  Gaspard  was  stand- 
ing by  my  chair,  the  look  of  anxiety  still  in 
his  eyes.  I  thought  of  the  old  servant,  who 
had  drunk  with  my  father  to  the  health  of  my 
sainted  mother,  and  I  thought,  too,  of  how  he 
had  raised  his  glass  with  my  father  when  I 
was  born. 

278 


I  took  one  of  the  glasses  he  filled 


THE  PRINCE'S  STORY 

"  Gaspard,"  I  commanded,  "  I  wish  you  to 
fill  two  glasses." 

He  asked  no  questions  but  his  hand  trembled. 
Standing,  I  took  one  of  the  glasses  he  had 
filled. 

"  Raise  your  glass,  Gaspard,"  I  said  to 
him.  "  I  wish  you  to  join  me  in  drinking  to 
the  health  and  happiness  of  a  noble  and  beau- 
tiful lady,  Madame  Leslie  Pointer." 

The  old  man's  face  went  suddenly  whiter 
than  I  had  ever  seen  it,  and  he  almost  spilled 
the  wine  on  the  table-cloth,  something  he  had 
never  done  in  his  life. 

When  we  had  drunk  the  toast  I  said  to  him: 

"  She  is  soon  to  be  married  to  one  of  the 
best  of  men,  my  good  friend  and  yours,  the  Vi- 
comte  Bertrand  de  Volney,  whose  health  I  now 
propose." 

"  God  be  thanked ! "  he  gasped  fervently,  and 
this  time  the  glass  shot  to  his  lips. 

I  looked  at  him  sharply  when  the  unexpected 
exclamation   escaped   him. 
279 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IX 

"  GasparcL  TOO  are  an  old  fool."  I  said  to 
him  sternly. 

Then,  as  lie  turned  away  from  me  to  hide  the 
tears  that  were  streaming  down  his  white 
Apples,  I  added  more  gently : 

~  We  are  two  old  fools,  Gaspard.  You  may 
serve  the  dinner.** 


CHAPTER  XTX 

CKSTE   WO«D    MOiE 

HERE,  the  reader  who  has  followed  so  far 
the  gentle  story  of  Prince  Florimond, 
must  take  a  final  leave  of  his  philosophising  au- 
thor and  allow  the  editor  to  indicate,  to  adum- 
brate, as  it  were,  the  conclusion  of  the  tale  thus 
abruptly  ended. 

"To  be  twenty,  to  be  in  lore  and  to  be  in 
Italy  constituted  the  perfection  of  human  hap- 
piness, according  to  the  gifted  Baroness  de 
StaeV*  Prince  Florimond  was  wont  to  re- 
mark but  he  never  failed  to  qualify  his  approval 
by  adding:  "She  should  have  written  Paris 
instead  of  Italy.  Paris  is  a  much  more  pleas- 
ant place  to  live  in  to-day  than  it  was  when 
the  worthy  Baronne  graced  her  famous  salon. 
We  have  acquired  with  the  years  that  charm 
281 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

which  it  was  then  the  fashion  to  believe  Italy 
alone  could  possess.  Our  skies  may  not  always 
be  so  blue  or  our  breezes  so  caressing  but  Paris 
to-day  is  the  friendliest  of  all  cities  and  the 
most  beautiful.  '  To  be  twenty,  to  be  in  love 
and  to  be  in  Paris  ' —  ah,  life  holds  no  more 
beautiful  dream  than  that.  Had  it  been  my 
fortune  to  have  a  son,  or  had  I  a  well-beloved 
nephew  to  whom  I  would  give  the  most  valuable 
of  all  gifts,  I  could  wish  him  no  better  fortune 
in  his  youth  than  to  be  in  Paris,  immersed  in 
honest,  happy  inspirational  love.  I  should 
wish  him  to  be  here,  striving  mightily  and  lov- 
ing mightily  and  dreaming  those  dreams  that 
are  born  of  love  and  labor.  Yes,  I  think  I 
could  wish  for  him  nothing  higher  than  that, 
nothing  that,  in  the  duller  time  to  come,  would 
bring  him  more  splendid  memories,  and  when 
all  is  said  and  done,  when  little  achievement 
has  blunted  the  edge  of  greater  promise, 
nothing  is  more  precious  than  such  memories." 
How  well  the  words  reveal  what  he  would 
282 


ONE  WORD  MORE 

have  written  of  Bruce  Converse  and  Eleanor 
Moore.  We  should  have  seen  them  supremely 
happy,  the  life  of  one  forever  the  complement 
of  the  other,  so  inseparable  in  spirit  that  the 
lofty  aims  and  ambitions  of  one  would  be  but 
as  a  reflection  of  the  desire  of  the  other.  It 
is  easy  for  our  imaginations  to  fill  in  the  picture 
he  has  sketched  for  us :  the  laughing,  tender, 
wise  comradeship  of  Eleanor,  the  strong  re- 
liant genius  of  Bruce  Converse.  They  go,  as 
says  the  author  at  the  very  beginning,  hand  in 
hand,  finding  love  in  their  labor  no  less  than  in 
their  moments  of  repose.  We  can  observe 
them  as  they  make  their  progress  to  their  high 
and  ultimate  goals,  each  one  a  sure  help  to  the 
other,  the  great  love  in  their  hearts  warming 
and  brightening  the  lives  of  those  about  them, 
bringing  the  sunshine  with  them  and  the  steady- 
ing example  of  noble  purpose.  In  the  pursuit 
of  careers  that  should  serve  as  an  expression 
of  the  art  with  which  nature  endowed  them, 
they  would  render  to  the  world  that  service 
283 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

which    is    required    of   us    all,    even    the    least 
gifted. 

He  would  have  shown  them  to  us,  not,  I  dare 
say,  in  the  brilliant  midday  of  their  careers, 
acclaimed  by  all,  Bruce  Converse,  honored  by 
the  nations  that,  in  honoring  art,  do  honor  to 
themselves,  Eleanor,  beloved,  worshiped  by 
the  multitudes  she  sways  with  her  pure  heavenly 
voice  that,  as  Karylli  said,  vient  du  bon  Dieu; 
no,  I  think  the  author  would  have  revealed  them 
to  us  rather  in  the  bright  morning  of  their 
promise  which,  after  all,  is  more  inspiring  than 
the  full  noontime  of  achievement,  however 
dazzling  it  may  be.  We  may  picture  all  that 
for  ourselves,  but  who  can  supply  for  us  the 
unobstrusive  erudition,  the  quaint  philosophical 
lore  with  which  Prince  Florimond  would  have 
imbued  the  story? 

Or,  it  may  have  been  that  the  author  in- 
tended to  show  us  Eleanor's  sacrifice  of  public 
applause,  finding  in  her  art  its  sweetest  use 
when  employed  for  the  one  who  was  her  love's 


ideal  auditor  and  for  him  alone.  Perhaps,  he 
meant  eventually  to  answer  that  question 
which,  somewhere,  he  complains  that  no  other 
philosopher  had  answered :  "  When  Love  and 
Art  stand  unalterably  opposed,  which  must  be 
sacrificed?  "  I  have  my  own  opinion  as  to  how 
he  would  have  answered  the  perplexing  problem 
but  you  must  make  your  own  deductions  from 
what  he  has  written. 

Alas !  Nothing  more  exists  of  the  manu- 
script, except  a  page  on  which  had  been 
transcribed,  apparently  with  much  effort,  some 
notes  that,  in  his  painstaking  fashion,  the 
author  had  evidently  set  down  for  future  use. 
The  notes  run :  "  Eleanor  and  Bruce  Con- 
verse. Their  perfect  happiness.  The  con- 
solations of  Love  that  outweigh  Fame,  Fortune 
or  even  a  cherished  Philosophy.  Moral :  Love 
should  be  held  as  sacred  as  Life,  for  Love  is 
Life." 

A  little  below  this,  the  philosopher  elaborated 
his  ideas.  "  No  human  being,  however  wise," 
285 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

he  writes,  "  can  choose  the  complement  of 
another  being.  So  complex  is  our  nature  that 
man,  after  centuries  of  study  and  observation, 
has  not  grown  to  know  mankind.  Of  all  earth's 
millions,  we  do  not  comprehend  one  person 
thoroughly,  not  even  ourself.  How,  then,  shall 
we  dare  to  direct  the  destinies  of  others? 
When  we  seek  by  means  of  our  small  acquire- 
ment of  science  to  regulate  the  spiritual  life  of 
another,  the  attempt  is  much  more  likely  to 
achieve  evil  than  to  accomplish  good." 

On  the  page  is  a  phrase  that  the  author 
probably  expected  to  employ :  "  As  Schopen- 
hauer wrote  in  his  youth  of  Art,  Love,  '  is  not, 
like  science,  merely  concerned  with  the  reason- 
ing powers,  but  with  the  innermost  nature  of 
man  in  which  each  must  count  merely  for  what 
he  is  in  reality.' ' 

After  all,  there  you  have  set  forth,  clearly 
enough,  the  real  purpose  of  the  book.  In  the 
guise  of  a  prose  romance,  curiously  inter- 
weaving fact  and  fiction,  the  gentle  philosopher 
286 


ONE  WORD  MORE 

had  set  his  learning  and  skill  to  the  task  of 
proving  the  invincibility  of  Love.  He  wished 
to  show  the  folly  of  meddling  with  the  dic- 
tates of  the  heart,  undoubtedly  holding  with  a 
very  modern  writer  that  intuition  is  a  higher 
force  than  calm  and  critical  reasoning.  "  Let 
Love  alone,"  is  his  final  cry.  "  Profane  it  not 
by  the  touch  of  alien  hands.  It  is  too  holy  and 
too  sacred  to  be  made  captive  and  subservient 
to  any  other  ends  than  those  for  which  it  was 
given  to  mortals,  the  generation  and  regenera- 
tion of  humanity,  the  union  of  two  individuals 
by  a  tie  that  shall  draw  the  whole  world  more 
closely  together." 

How  magnificently  he  would  have  supported 
his  theory  by  a  picture  of  Eleanor  and  Rruce 
Converse,  illustrating  by  their  lives  that  high- 
est phase  of  the  passion  of  Love,  the  phase  of 
fulfilment,  of  perfect  understanding,  of  satis- 
faction without  its  "  sad  satiety." 

That  this  was  never  done  was  due  to  the 
author's  untimely  and  unexpected  death.  The 
287 


WHEN  FOOLS  RUSH  IN 

appended  newspaper  item  gives  the  details  of 
that  sad  event. 

(Extract  from  the  Figaro  of  July  7,  19.  . ) 
Nous  apprenons,  avec  le  plus  vif  regret,  la 
mort  du  Prince  Florimond  de  Saint-Sauveur, 
survenue  cette  nuit  en  son  hotel  de  la  Rue  Saint 
Dominique.  Le  Prince  a  succombe  aux  suites 
de  la  blessure  qu'il  a  recue  dans  son  duel  avec 
le  Due  de  Mirdbelle,  il  y  a  quelques  jours. 
Cette  blessure,  qui  tout  d'abord  avait  semble 
leg  ere,  s'est  subitement  aggravee  a  la  suite 
d'une  sortie  prematuree,  faite  malgre  I'opposi- 
tion  des  medecins.  Appartenant  a  I'une  des 
plus  vieilles  families  de  la  noblesse  francaise,  il 
laisse  son  nom  s'eteindre  avec  lui.  II  etait  le 
fils  unique  du  celebre  Prince  Pierre  de  Saint- 
Sauveur,  membre  de  I'Academie,  Commandeur 
de  la  Legion  d'Honneur,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

(Translation) 

With   great   regret  we   announce  the  ideath, 
last    night    at    his    home    in    the    Rue    Saint 
288 


ONE  WORD  MORE 

Dominique,  of  Prince  Pierre  Florimond  de 
Saint-Sauveur.  His  death  resulted  from  a 
wound  received  a  few  days  since  in  a  duel  with 
the  Due  de  Mirabelle.  At  first,  the  wound  was 
not  considered  to  be  serious,  but  was  aggravated 
by  exposure,  the  prince  having  left  his  home  too 
soon,  against  the  advice  of  his  physicians. 
Member  of  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  the 
French  nobility,  he  was  the  last  of  his  name. 
He  was  the  only  son  of  the  celebrated  Prince 
Pierre  de  Saint-Sauveur,  member  of  the 
Academy,  Commander  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


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